Saturday Afternoon on a New York Railroad Platform

By MARIA TERRONE

The National Guard is on patrol
in combat boots and GI Joe camouflage,
M16’s slung down to their hips,
young as boys on Halloween,
ready for anything, and I want
to hand every one of them a bag of candy.

Teens heading home from the shore
jostle one another, breaking
into impromptu dance; sparkles scatter
across a girl’s grass-green miniskirt
like dew. It’s Morning in America.
Her friend lifts a Coke
from a canvas tote striped red, white and blue,
and gulps deeply, head wrapped
in a star-spangled Doorag.
A squall is coming on. Wind swells
his Yankees t-shirt like a schooner’s sail,
shakes his gold hoop earring.

I lean over the track, pretending
to be fearless. Two cops stream past:
one, freckled and pink-cheeked,
his black partner middle-aged-weary,
like Huck Finn and Jim heading to
wherever the river takes them.

 

 

Maria Terrone is the author of three poetry collections including Eye to Eye (Bordighera Press, 2014) and a chapbook. Her work has appeared in magazines such as Poetry and Ploughshares and more than 25 anthologies. She is the poetry editor of Italian Americana.

Saturday Afternoon on a New York Railroad Platform

Related Posts

Palm Trees

Ho’omana’o

EDWARD LEES
The scrubbing out had been so forceful / that much was forgotten—the heat so intense / that gemlike crystals and glass / had formed, / like strange echoes.

Worn front door

From Sieve: A Preliminary Draft and a Ruin

HILDEGARD HANSEN
There were half-collapsed buildings at the sides of the road, the roof fallen in, stone walls still standing. Sometimes a small footpath and an old stone bridge, long driveways down to a stone house, smoke out the chimney.

Chair against the window

Susan

SARAH DUNPHY-LELII
I visit with a friend as she works to empty her mother’s house, who died just days before Christmas, and each object holds a tiny piece of Susan. I come away with several treasures lovely (a hand knitted scarf, a clay donkey to hold my garlic) and practical.