state of confusion
‘Round the mountaintop it ran,
through make-believe timber towns,
rusting iron, painted facades
of general store and water tower.
We liked to sit in the very first car,
in the quiet, cool morning,
fog enshrouded bays below,
scented steam floating past,
your trusting little hand in mine,
watching you more fun than the ride,
but oh, how you cried in the tunnel.
Weaving in and out of redwoods,
peek of Berkeley Hills,
tiptop of triangular Transamerica
just visible above the fog line
in the distant City.
Blue and white striped conductor’s hat
guided that imagination, to lands
where mine could never go,
but, the meaning of the moment
did not escape me.
© 2000 Corinne Bailey