WITHOUT RESERVATION

by Stanley Donaldson

A WHISTLE sharp from the darkness, the slack goes out of the train
And we hit her up over the switches, into the drivin' rain.
Clickity-clack and gainin', till the click is a steady pound,
And fainter the lights about us and fainter the fleein' ground
Till there's only a swayin' foot-hold with the square of the tank before,
Black like dread or devil-red as they swing the firebox door.
And so we cling in silence, watchin' the night rush by,
Two of us headed westward, "Curly the Vag" and I.

Money back on the cushions! I close my eyes and feel
Myself a-ridin' with them—the world on an even keel,
The world of the fairy story where the candy mountain's real
With credits that's always credits and a roll that'll never peel.
With Curly sittin' by me, him with a fancy eye,
And a pinch of coke or a four-bit smoke to while the minutes by.
Me in a chair all pretty, or pullin' my shoes for bed,
And never a thought for a minute of a couple of vags ahead.

And I close my eyes to see this and I open them up to see
Only the rain and the darkness leapin' to cut at me,
Or the crawl of the slack or the roarin' of a bridge we leap upon,
Demons out of the darkness racin' to beat the dawn.
So our string sweeps up the tangent or shrieks, at an outer rail
And I cling and doze by Curly and watch the dim stars pale
Till the day blows up their peekin' and shines on another land.
Tickets? There's rust on my shoulder and the smell of iron on my hand!