Image courtesy of the Library of Congress.
Here is where the railroad tore
Through the edge of our town.
Black earth, black air and the perfect
Angel, steam, sung by whistle
Toots and a language of flags,
Brakemen’s lanterns and the booming
Freight cars tearing dark holes
Through all the seasons.
We were Town of Niagara boys.
The city boys knew it because
We walked in the streets when
We crossed Hyde Park bridge
To go into the city together.
We didn’t have sidewalks.
Our barber shop in a drear
Apartment building called
The Ten Commandments.
Mr. Brunettit’s grocery store,
Where he reigned, cigar mashed
In his face, his wife, small,
Watching from the shadows.
Brownie’s gas station “If you can’t
Come in smile as you go by”, the sign
Facing cobblestones of Hyde Park
Blvd. There was a war in Europe,
Japan. It seemed exotic until
The dead came home and we
Knew their names and faces,
Their mothers and fathers.
The flag-draped boxes and crisp
Ceremony. Taps at Riverdale.
It was good to be from there.
Where the air always smelled.
Chemicals and hot slag in the night
Poured into open fields from
Midnight trams, glowing as our
Lives glowed, brighter than radio
Dials tuned to the news and spoken
Fictions churning it all together.
The town, the trains, the Ten
Commandments, the cigar, the dull
Gas station and nights filled
With the crazy wonder of it all.
Source: The Real “Old Falls Street” People Facebook Group, April 6, 2017. Originally published in D. R. Wagner, Private Archaeology, Bottle of Smoke Press, 2013.
