Living with trains

Morning breaks
As sweet bird songs lure me
Forgetting that nature fakes
It's prelude to the real overture.

So I wait
For the first train,
Moving soft and swift,
A mere ripple across my conscious mind,
A thoughtful driver's gift
To the sleeping, sleepless kind.

Still waiting
When here they come with harsher sounds
Metal on metal, steel on iron
Man-made cacophony gouging fresh wounds.
The earth quakes; at the next vibration
I'm out of bed and smashing my fist
Against the window
Until I'm splintered with glass.

As the blood oozes from my shattered wrist
The next train to pass
Hoots with derision.