LITTLE RED LIES
I grew up by a railway track
And often little me was woken up by primal tension
as the power of the brakes reined in
the weight behind the engine.
Surprising then to find out, as I grew to venture past the fence
That scream and grind
adrenaline beyond my ken to handle
wide eyed in my bed at night;
depended on a very small red light.
My dad said
“Driver’s gotta to see the light, to make it home intact.”
Despite the thrill of riding the momentum
or dreaming, drunk, distracted
by the gleam allure of onward tracks
or dulled out, too familiar with the sight
‘The driver’s gotta to see that red light every time and pull the engine back’.
Then later on I learned that sophisticated railways
can compensate for human frailty
Or override a will for immolation.
I hear a higher power comes to save the day
with scream of brakes on auto slam; the driver wakes.
So if I seem a little distant, dear, these days
It’s ‘cause a silent screaming
in my cells, a gripping tension is
demanding my attention.
Despite how much I want to just dissolve into your eyes
The brakes are sliding on.
So many small red lies,
how easily you tell them,
and I’m alarmed how carelessly
you put me in complicity.
And if I daily pray to higher forces, as I do,
I have to waken when they try to save me.
And I can cry or sigh or
wish the journey had gone different.
But it didn’t.
And woken in my adult bed, the primal forces raging:
the magnetism of your midnight skin
against my indignation.
I must choose another destination,
and I don’t think you’ll mind,
it seems you’re fine to glide on your own rails.
And I’ll remind myself; to you, be always kind.
I loved you once, without a reservation.
But it’s really not your train,
if it don’t stop at your station.