Poetry Week 2026 Runner-up:
BY MARK THOMAS
Copyright is held by the author.
Trains hide in prairie landscapes,
lie in wait beneath
rolling waves of canola.
Then, when least expected,
they breach in rearview mirrors
and bear down hard,
biblical monsters
dripping cranks and valves
like whale lice.
Rising high,
trains hog the horizon,
ingest the nearby scenery
and spit it back.
Unblinking signal lamps
affixed to black heads
give slower swimmers the side eye
while their gigantic, segmented bodies
slip past with effortless force,
intention inconsequential.
The enormous thing that appears
so suddenly
disappears with excruciating leisure.
Bobbing in its wake, the planet awash,
you spin your useless wheel,
pull levers or twist dashboard dials —
all to no effect.
If you really want to understand
this voyage, this endless transit,
you must leave the cabin
and crouch, wide-legged,
on a surging hood
and harpoon a train.
***
Mark Thomas is an artist and writer from St. Catharines Ontario. He has recently published five books with small indie presses. Check out his work at https://flamingdogshit.com