When I was four I fell in love
the shape – a double decker cigar
the glossy cherry-and-cream paint job
the trapeze on top to catch
electricity from the wires.
how it could have two fronts and two backs
at the way it crashed and swayed
from side to side
the bow wave of sparks.
with his rack of tickets
and his rude stories
the driver like Ahab,
braced against the roll,
grasping the brass safety handle
like the butt of a harpoon.
the screech of grinding steel on steel
the rumbling electric growl
and climbing down the iron steps
back into the world.