In Poetry on November 1, 2011 at 3:36 am

How I chased after her, a caboose
following an engine, trailing her
across the city to classes, to cafes…

What a fool to think that love
would make me visible. No,
to this day when she passes me

she glides by like a commuter train
past a farmer’s field, only cows
and a caboose in the muddy grass.


Bob Bradshaw lives in California, a state that is drifting slowly towards Asia. Bob is inching towards retirement. It is unclear who will reach their destination first. Bob’s poetry has appeared in Pedestal, Stirring, Eclectica, Cha: An Asian Literary Journal and many other publications.


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