“Every child should have one, a pair, really,

a matched set, set apart just the right width

so that one foot pressed against each one

leaves you stretched out about as far

as you can go, unable to move, feeling

almost trapped, almost actually in danger.

And every child should walk them as if

that's what they were intended for,

leading out of town, around the curve,

along the river, revealing the backsides

of people's homes, clotheslines and refuse,

the yards you weren't supposed to see.

And every child should learn to balance

atop the railhead without the constant

unsightly tipping from side to side,

should be able to step exactly the distance

between the ties consistently, almost

marching without kicking up ballast.

And every child should have a bridge

they go under to hide and look

at dirty magazines and smoke cigarettes

and place coins on the rails to flatten

and see if this could be the one

to cause the train to leap the tracks.

And every child should know the lonely

distant sound of late night travel

when bad dreams have kept them awake

wondering where they come from, what

they bring or take, and where when it's all

done they might return and call home."

Scott Owens, “Rails"