ELEANOR ROSS TAYLOR

Hospital Visit

From his window she looks out
on railroad tracks.

After doctors’  hustled rounds,
nurses’ coffeeing at their station,
mops gone through,
IV in a new vein,
he sleeps.

She diagnoses train.
It runs steely. Does not whisper.
Is not sterile.
Has God-knows-what inside those boxcars.
It means business.
Its hard breathing says
what its business is:
BE IN ANOTHER TOWN TONIGHT.