The modest homes of the Borough of Queens <br />Are sturdy in their contrast to high Manhattan <br />Across which I saw drifting <br />The ashen smoke of the fallen towers <br />From this outpost of the city, a week after 'nine-eleven' <br /> <br />The tallest flagpole you could have imagined <br />Stands military-straight above a score of tollbooths <br />And the twelve lane thoroughfare of cars <br />Makes me feel like a visitor from a previous time - <br />But it's still that old union flag, however high it stands <br /> <br />Not a seat is empty on this sleek metal tube <br />That runs on its barely-subsidised tracks <br />Through a tiny stretch of the vast coastline <br />Stealing a peek at the brave Atlantic <br /> <br />A child concentrated on video games <br />Lends no mind to what her father sees. Around them, <br />Many tongues, ancestries, the faiths - <br />Fanaticisms held in check <br />By laws crafted for the needs <br />Of those who harness this diffusion <br /> <br />The airport which swallows the planes swooping low <br />Across the municipal towers of Newark <br />Is named for some primary notion of freedom - <br />But see, here is a passing Freedom Train <br />Gliding by the piles of industrial rage, <br />Seeking better ways and better days.<br /><br />Frank Bana<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/freedom-train-part-one/
