Cargo

It still feels like summer
in the middle of the fall,
and I want it all to add up
perfect so there are no
hanging questions left
to answer.
People sit in lawn chairs,
like a party, outside leasing
offices in hopes of getting them
to recognize the rent
has all been spent
on something different.
Old houses stand out
solidly among the new
and while too few of them
are occupied, sometimes
locked inside are memories
far too steep to ever summit,
or remember in a way
that makes them painless.
The assistant to the engineer
is eaten up by stress and fear,
and has always wanted a chance
to finally drive.
On tracks there wasn’t much
control but speed was at their
fingertips, and so he slammed
his master’s face into the levers
that became how they were carried.
They were buried where
they jumped the line
among some pine trees
and a hillside cut in half.
They got the standard wooden crosses
and some wreaths so it would seem
like people cared, but it was always
about the cargo, and all the big shows
that convinced the world to buy it.

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