Poem by John Davis

Harmonica Train Seattle to Spokane

You hopped this train in your twenties,

    climbed aboard with buddies dumb enough

        to think you would be warm in summer

            winding through mountains. Shiver that

        memory along the reed. Slap time the way

    you slapped your shoulders, rubbed goosebumps

along your legs, and you have clickity-

    clackity thump-a-bump. If you dip

        your harp in a water glass, you will bend

            your notes to a groan, bring on the moan

        before you squeak the brakes, jump off

    the train in the railyard, hop across the tracks.

Blow a final vibrato that disappears in the night.

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John Davis is the author of Gigs, Guard the Dead and The Reservist. His work has appeared in DMQ Review, Iron Horse Literary Review and Terrain.org. He lives on an island in the Salish Sea and performs in several bands.