It passes too abruptly to stage the camera or nudge my wife,
Just long enough for a mental vignette to precipitate then fade into an aftertaste,

A crippled wooden footbridge clinging historically to both sides of a creek,
A river fowl within inches of perching on a rock,
A grandfather repairing a tricycle,
A pile of garbage and couch cushions spilling down a street-side hill,
Four teenagers in a driveway discussing something other than politics,
An airborne girl between trampoline bounces,
A backpacker passing peanuts to his wife,
A jokester mooning the train,
His friend standing sheepishly beside, mooning vicariously,
A woman in a ball cap refueling her lawnmower,
A defunct brick factory-shop-warehouse, its checkerboard of windows broken by hailstone and thrown-stone,
An enchanting S-curve shaved into a hilly corn field,
A half-burned-down diner,
A deer hopping into the brush away from the clack-horn-rumble,
A rusted and tottering RV parked on its deathbed in a yard of trash,

The present passes swiftly when sought,
Evading capture like the house fly.
Some know how to retreat long enough
To coax a landing and observe.

This whole train ride will
Soon be an aftertaste.

© Tanner Rinke 2015