I work all day on the railroad
The city feeds the rails
The factories churn out their goods without stopping
Nine to five
And there is more work to be done than people to do it
I hate it because I do not stop
I love it because I need a living
I usually work a crosstown transfer
Refrigerator cars from the slaughterhouse district
And tank cars from the refinery
And boxcars full of drywall
And flatcars heavy with lumber
And hoppers sagging beneath loads of coal
And gondolas filled to the brim with scrap steel
The worn throttle slides smoothly
Under my dirty gloved hand
As I release the air brakes
They relinquish their grip
With a scratchy hiss
My big blue locomotive
Older than I am
Its paint worn and haggard
Its diesel engine idling rough
Its horn dented and off key
Belches exhaust towards the blue sky
And drags the
Creaking
Rumbling
Squeaking
Clanking
Train across the black stalwart iron bridge
To its next stop on the way across the industrial heartland
Pittsburgh is the steel buckle of the rust belt

Back