Cumbres-Toltec Railroad: Daddy’s Boy

He sits on engineer’s lap,

small hands gripping the wheel.

Crawling, walking, running legs

of steel on double track.

He crows with barreling might,

small hands gripping the wheel.

Three toots, two toots, one toot, whoosh

and city’s out of sight.

He smiles at promenade’s grace,

small hands gripping the wheel.

Marching mountains, fluted fields

match windows with their pace.

He yawns at terminal’s door,

small hands dropping the wheel.

Nodding, twitching, blinking signs

on drowsy tempo’s score.

— Mommy