I had lost my train of thought.
It was cobalt, 2” by 3/4’, with silver axles, and
It was overtaken instantly by villains on horseback. Or
perhaps it embraced its fluidity
and seeped right off its rails.
The police say I’m not alone-
that trains are stolen everyday, and
mine’s one of thousands.
They say that
there’s a scrapyard downtown
where trains are taken to be torn apart
and refashioned. My perfect engine,
its cobalt paint scraped off in blue chips,
its silver axles melted down into tin,
and the metal underneath, polished
made useful by someone else.