Past the park where the wind blows hard
an old man walks with a soft step,
his footfalls a counterpoint to the blustering
that threatens to push him off his path.
He passes people in the plain light of day
who take no notice of his presence
as they steam up and down the salted sidewalk.
The roar of the train chugging past
behind the trees at the edge of the park
is not deafening, but it does deaden
the sound of everything moving around
and some of the things that move within.
The train abruptly applies its brakes;
the metallic screech stabs through the air.
Passers-by wince at the sudden noise
that tears them from their worried thoughts,
but they continue down their respective paths.
All except for the old man,
who heard the sound but did not shrink
and turns to watch sunlight play on the snowbanks.
Copyright (C) 2012 by Eric Landuyt