Duane Koukol: Train poem | SteamboatToday.com

Duane Koukol: Train poem

The train runs to a ski resort.

Nine-hundred tickets sold, in 14 hours!

No longer, sitting in line on I-70 for half a day!

The future — smoking car, a wine and cheese car, next door.

A candlelight dinner as the train goes through the tunnel.

The train s-whoos-es and sways.

Two ski resorts on one rail line, train.

One further west than Winter Park.

But the last stop an old cow town

with Butch and Sundance fame.

Two casinos, one in the old Safeway store,

Long since closed its doors

And the other a larger building and parking lot.

The train turns around in this last town.

Comes in Friday evenings. Goes back to Denver Sunday, late afternoons.

The little cow town, its survival no longer words of economic gloom!

If you don’t like to listen, to ‘The Train?’

The tracks will rust!

Whistles will no longer sound!

A trip to Denver, only a poet’s last lines of this refrain

Please, listen hard, to the whistles of ‘The Train!’

Duane Koukol


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