by Ross Jackson
our Amtrak coming in through stealthy twilight
most of an hour rounding red river bends
in shadow from furrowed hills
now gliding alongside the doomed cattle
those trainsets abandoned
at Grand Junction—
skid row for locos and freight cars
mismatched rolling stock
confined to rusted grids
their once romantic livery
splattered with carbon black
locked joints
pasted with long dried grease
zero palliative care
for worn out servants fallen aside
starlit violet velvet lining the coffin lid
as it gently closes
on the unstaffed hospice tonight