Iron Rooster to Montreal

PM MXXI

Iron Rooster to Montreal

Sitting on the platform, hungover like a bastard

contemplating whether to throw up before getting

on the train,

a private spot beside the tracks,

an homage to Saint John that will

only last until the next rainfall

which could be any minute now,

fucking maritime weather,

rain being the constant

and the norm.

The bells ring loudly

amplified by sixty ounces of scotch

shared with Joe the night before

a stupid move, knowing the long journey

into French territory

long ago Anglicized making it difficult to

differentiate between a crepe St. Jacques,

or an order of fish and chips

wrapped in yesterday's newspaper,

the grease seeping through the newsprint,

hinting at a heart attack twenty years in the

future.

The train has pulled up yet the energy to

get up did not arrive with it,

an empty bottle of Alpine slides to the

concrete as I rise,

another homage to my alcoholism

as the glass shatters into a thousand

pieces,

blanketing the ground below the bench,

with shards of beer-soaked glass

much like my stomach feels like at that

moment.

The train has come from Moncton,

before that Halifax,

on the Edmunston, Quebec City and

Montreal,

a night there and the fast one to

Toronto the next morning.

I leave the Atlantic behind, some of my

soul lies in the Bay of Fundy,

the rest in the Saint John River,

meandering its' way through

Grand Bay,

carrying my secrets out to sea,

secrets wrapped in seaweed.

I put one foot on the train and hesitate,

feeling like I should be remembering this moment

forever, looking back at Princess Street and the

new Market Square,

I bid farewell, not a tear to be shed,

but happy inside I did not leave much

behind in the gutter for the rain to wash

away.

I find a seat and wait for the final

whistle, the train begins to move,

behind schedule and

little chance of making up that lost time,

I consider sleep,

or reading, being terrorized by Edgar Allen Poe and

poor Arthur Gordon Pym of

Nantucket,

I will always miss the sea, foghorns, and

reading the names on the ships

as they head out of the harbour

under the bridge and out of

sight,

I shun Poe for the moment,

and stagger towards the bar car,

I got my train legs already.

MCC