The Crash at Lackawanna Terminal
There is a mix of phthalocyanine
and cobalt in the heavy beams that cross
beneath titanium and crinoline,
a glass that filters cadmium to dross
and lights the space in saturated grays.
It’s aqueous and beautiful, a round
embodiment of contrasts in the steel
that arches and the iron on the ground.
A firmament. A sphere, a world, a wheel,
an engine balancing the grit and glaze
outside the stony Beaux-arts waiting room.
A palette worked for ages yielding blue
and gold to kilowatts and diesel fume
at 20 miles an hour plowing through
the hurling platform of our latter days.
by Rick Mullin
Editor’s Note: The contrast of beauty to destruction is skillfully illustrated by this poem. The end rhyme of “phthalocyanine” to “crinoline” is creative and unexpected.