Your Media train
leaves at 4 AM,
bound for the
Left Coast and
pure mayhem,
(the land of
fruits and nuts
and glow,
plus the grand
movie daughter
of Dick Winslow),
the Conductor
Calls every
twenty minutes
with a bucket load
Of questions,
playing from
a cheatsheet
full of factual
all those things
people want
to know,
while the sun rises
there are many
surprises, from Fargo
North Dakota
and chilly Minnesota,
Queries in lovely
Southern diction,
wanting details about
fact and fiction,
all the stories
the amazing glory
of being a writer,
way before the
clock ticks six
you gulp some
caffeine , stand
strong in the dream,
chugging along toward
Denver and Kentucky,
This locomotive tracks
fast and lucky,
and a little complex,
with the questioning side
from the opposite sex,
curious about the
Big Sur tricks
the fog in the air
is misty and thick
these would-be world
travelers do their work
from the chair, without
a care for the prurient
soul who paces
the opening hours
of sensual spaces
With much to inspire
with her fabulous list
of ardent admirers,
it’s the world of my
acting father, my
singing mother,
my curious brother,
all bound up in
a live conversation
broadcast before dawn,
flying the airwaves
to the drive-alongs,
wondering what
that woman might
be wearing,
is she commanding
and overbearing,
where has she been,
what shape is she in,
what next of kin
will pick up the pieces
after all these
brand new releases?


©J.W.WINSLOW 6/1/13