underneath a railroad coal car

in the backcountry 

thinking backwards

to the devastating Marietta flood 

all the way to the 20's

the 1920's

with Susquehanna river water crossing over the railroad tracks

so people were rescued from their

second floor windows,

boats in the swift brown flow

and residents with no where to go;

and later my grandfather and my dad

carrying heavy coal sacks

back home,

a different home

near Front street

to provide a little heat

because wood was scarce

and the freight train stopped

without a watchman or a guard

nothing easy! 

mostly resignation for anything toohard

acceptance

improvisation 

without a moments hesitation

acting soberly

wearing blacks and white

every day and every night

working dawn to dusk

in the summer months 

delivering ice

when the roads were dry

and the air was hot

laboring for everything they ever got

the outhouse sagging in the back yard

one seat for every butt

hinges that didn't operate

so the old door couldn't shut

pages torn from newspapers

most old and torn

sitting happily or forlorn

eating a simple small town diet

no tv but a contented overnight quiet

with kerosene lamps, conversations and playing cards

three to a room or sometimes four

two sons going off to the Second World War

then, after and later 

sunning on the Jersey shore

with a shovel and small pail

no one sentenced to jail

i heard them say

that that's not the American Way:

no, climb the ladder from the shack

there's no glory in continuously looking back

prepare an adequate garden for your food

no time for being in a sour mood

stay in your own sweet lane

connected to each other

with an unbroken family chain

and with every sentence that one might write

make it short and tight

remembering how to crawl underneath a railroad coal car

where the spillage doesn't have to travel very far

to find it's way into your bag,

even if there's no money to be found

on the ground,

there's always love in the heart.