This is not the first poem you have seen

This is not the first poem I have written

It is more like a locomotive, the first acquired, silent in a shed, replaced by machines with bigger numbers.

When the big steam-puffing thing chugged into view, people thought

This is going to take us places!

What if it goes nowhere?

If we were supposed to have locomotives, we would have been given locomotives in the same way we’ve been given legs, feet, toes (but not shoes and socks) and the holes in our heads.

It smells funny, like the hot, rusty iron odor of blood.

If it breaks, who is going to fix it?

This is going to make us a big pile of money!

This is going to do what others never did!

This is the first of many!

Remember how it sounded when it moved?

Number ONE, number ONE, number ONE!