Summer 1989 Edition Selections
by Patrick J. O’Connor
Frank was just about to drift into sleep when the sliding steel doors separating the cars banged open and the conductor walked in, apparently deep in a daydream as he passed by without collecting a fare. Frank watched the form of the large, blue-uniformed man amble away, and then he thought that maybe this was his lucky day, regardless of how poorly he’d done at the track. Maybe today, for the first time in almost twenty–five years of commuting, he’d ride the train for free.
by William B. Catton
Mother made an even bigger contribution to the gene pool. She liked railroads as much as Dad did and had closer ties with one: her father, my Grandfather Cherry, worked for the Pennsylvania. He had started out at one of the company’s shops in northern Indiana in the mid-1880s, a boy in his early teens, hired because he was the only one on the premises who was small enough to wedge himself into a certain section of a locomotive boiler and clean it properly.
by Larry Levis
What’s gone is moon’s silk; what’s one has rotted the circles from
Luna Moth & Shasta Daisy.
Beyond the flies on the sills, beyond the stained glass with its sheep
Accumulating like curious tourists, you could hear the sound of hammering
grow louder each week . . .
by Kathryn Burak
watches me through his newspaper
and the naugahyde seat as if to say,
Your unwashed soul has brought too much
again this trip. You’re heavy.
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