FOUR THOUSAND FEET

FOUR THOUSAND FEET

I remember the time
when my walkie talkie
picked up different voices.
Antennaed black boxes
could unexpectedly bring down
god’s from the sky.
The language was numbers
and permission in masculine static.
If I were lucky
a jet or prop plane
would roar overhead
demystifying the voices.
If not, I’d go to dad
who could still tolerate
reading over television,
steam instead of diesl,
yet he had no answers for such a question.
Walkie talkies were not for his time
They demanded more thinking
than faith for this railroad man
from a generation built on rails.