I hear the distant whistle of an approaching train
     and I think of movement

Moving people
     moving goods
          moving people as goods

Across this vast country
Marking time and space 

I’ll never write a train poem like Hayden
or actualize the metaphor like Whitehead

But I hear the whistle of an approaching train
     and I think of hot summer nights
     and police whistles echoing through public squares
          where people were sold as goods
Across this vast country
Dogs and guns trained on the public

Re-training hate still leaves you with hate
      further down the track

I hear the whistle of an approaching train

And I can’t tell which way it’s coming from
     or which way it’s going
Because it is so loud it seems to be coming from and going to
everywhere at once

But I hear the whistle of an approaching train
     
                                                                           and I think of movements