Vigil

And many a night
The Knight would rise from his chamber
To stare in to the Void
Yet discerning no thing
A three a m train
Blows its horn
On the main line
South to the Pacific Coast of Mexico
The rolling stock pounds the rails
Sending its tune a mile away
And the whistle blows again
Past the sleepers on the Mexican side of town
The belly must be fed
Apple sauce and pita bread
There is no delicacy here
Just hanging folds of fat

Chris Lovette
Tucsan, AZ
April 2017