Waiting for Duty
I walked through the cinders and tasted the smoke
of the engines that paused there; fireboxes to stoke
in the heat of north India those railmen did toil
then chai in the office; the kettles a-boil.
Strange words for a greeting, they welcomed me there,
then come meet the boss now: and pull up a chair.
I walked through the cinders and tasted the smoke
as I went round the shed, in my notebook I wrote
of the engines and valve gear and tenders I saw
while oiling and coaling: of these men I’m in awe.
I remembered my childhood and traveling by train
from the great Midland city, vacation the aim
I walked through the cinders and tasted the smoke
as a teen through my twenties, by memories smote
of the smells and the sounds of those engines of yore
that stayed in my heart strings till brought to the fore
by the engines that paused there; fireboxes to stoke
and the joy of the cinders and tasting the smoke.
