The Aurora Series

The following poems were written in the Roundhouse, downtown Aurora. The first is an ode to my great grandfather, Lloyd Hansen, a railroad machinist who passed away before I was old enough to gather much of who he was. The second is a reflection on today's generation, including myself.

I love you for reading.

JN

City of Lightning
I remember little of his face
something of his voice,
but see all of my Great Grandfather
sitting in his wheel chair
demanding my left fist cover my left eye and
twisting his hips,
grunting that I do the same and send my right hand
thrusting, clenched, into his leather palms
he held above his jagged elbows,
 
his callouses thick like the bricks
of this building where he used to toil,
his stubbornness thick like a machinist’s
hands coated in oil or like these walls,
built ascending to heaven to house railcars
but now to house fermenters
and tile floors, the rafters perfumed
with aromas of coffee beans
 
as I sit above his footprints
and sip a drink that steams
like old rail engines, warm and fast and jolting
like its name, or sparring jabs
or the memory of him.

Waiting Generation

The boys and girls whisper
of Tomorrow, flick nickels
into wish pools that ripple
toward Tomorrow, send fickle prayers
for labormen to lay brick roads
away into that ever-promising day,
 
and they wait and wonder
with still feet, weak souls and growing worry
as the sun sets and casts  the caveat of Yesterday,
the haunt of unsavored time,
a shadow more daunting and certain than
bright and wishful promises of Tomorrow.