Sometimes poems keep changing and changing. Here is an update to a poem a started a long time ago ...
Christmas: Orono 1956
We would sit on the bank and feel the tremble
of the southbound passenger train
as it rolled across the Pine Street grade
trailing a lone red signal light
that beckoned us south to Bangor Maine
down to New York and way out West
but for now we were grade school boys
Christmas pajamas and a model train
stopped on a flimsy oval of rails
all waiting on the vagaries
of electric circuits in a little house
taxed to the limit by the chill
of winter air against the cracks
fuses blowing at the demands
of Christmas lights and electric oven
glowing just above the tracks
© 2015 Frank Kearns
