We were here
in the day of the iron horses
plying their track-ed way
up and down the nearby Soo Line trail.
In the shadow of St. Joe's Catholic church steeple,
the particulant-laden dark plumes of coal steam
from the engines passed through town
several times daily.
They caused church janitors to dust and wash windows
and other residents, including my grandma,
to cleanse their curtains frequently.
Yet we rhapsodize these early trains,
say we miss them.
Living now - just barely -
in a noxious bubble o-er the planet
where every single breath we draw has poison it it.
It's too late to throw our lungs in a washing machine
and hang them out to dry.
We thought of the term 'sooty men' when we got this steam train image from a friend. Sooty men, from