Willow Grove Train Station Relocation Presentation at the Giant / Poem: His Train

My potato salad includes in-season veggies like asparagus, lightly steamed and crunchy. I'm eating my second bowl now.

Scott and I drove over to the Giant supermarket classroom to hear about the proposed move of the train station. I learned some interesting things.

Click on this great website.

The 13-member Task Force has been working on this phase of the study since February. They meet in the Township Commissioner's room.

It was initiated by the County, according to Task Force member Bob Crippin.

He's also instrumental in the development of one of our many township parks, historic Boileau Farmstead. Scott and I are both members. Bob remembered our names.

Jonathan is another Task Force member, instantaneously recognizable. Some of the info I got from him contradicted Bob Crippen's, unless my hearing aid wasn't.....oh, I don't have a hearing aid.

"I met you when I visited my friend Alex Zachariah," I said.

How is Alex?

Oh, he was just leaving for work when I was coming here.

Yeah, he's still in prison, I guess.

Alex is a corrections officer at Graterford.

Gerry Dungan, a writer/editor at Patch.com, writes notes after videotaping a resident. His video features comments by residents about what they think of the 'transit relocation' project. I believe that's its official name.

There are grants available for this: Federal, state, and county.

Here are the money people. They call themselves by a more respectable name. The sign on their table read: Economics/Finance.

His first name might be Mark. Then again, it could be Ben, Chris, Murray, Jesus, Moses, or Vladimir. There was no need to take notes.

Here's the owner of the planning company, Todd J Poole.

When I learned he was the owner, I wanted to take a picture of his purple tie.

Together, you and I will look at his website.

Altho they call it moving the train station, they would leave the station where it is, but build a new train station somewhere in the vicinity. They have several ideas. Plus they would revitalize downtown Willow Grove, the center of which is a Burger King that smells of cherry toilet deodorizer when you walk in.

Chrissie is the spokesperson for Michael Baker Management Services. I asked her what projects Baker had undertaken. She knew practically nothing about her company b/c she's new. A quick look at their website revealed the incredible: they were involved in the Alaska Pipeline.

She told me to look for the man with the tie and he would answer my questions.

Scott just informed me that Baker is doing research on Phila's 12-lane Roosevelt Hwy, which extends from the Greater Northeast Phila area through North Philly, including the Roosevelt Extension which leads into I-76.

Very heavily trafficked. Baker will see if they can use all-bus dedicated lanes and other traffic-control measures. Click here for more info on the Boulevard.



I believe his name is Ferguson.

Huge map was spread out on a ping-pong table. Well, it looked like one anyway. Two young guys were there, very involved, on opposite sides of the table. They were interested in a biking path!!!

Notably missing from the presentation were the future of our town: families with young children. I brot this up to Todd Poole in the purple tie - a Tie means you're important - and he said they were probly home after a hard day's work.

In fact, I told neighbor Patrick about the meeting but he couldn't attend.

He and his kids stopped by earlier with this lovely drawing:



When I got home from the meeting, my pain was so bad I took a new drug recommended by my back surgeon. I'll never remember the name so I'll call it - with high hopes - Prometheus, actually Promathazine.



On my way out. And off to the Upper Moreland Library to pick up my latest DVD, Rome, Open City, made in 1945 by Rosselini. Recently reviewed in a video by the Times, I knew after the first two seconds, it was a great film.

The moment I got home from the library I took my pain meds. One Percoset is practically useless so Dr Lee, thru his nurse, recommended an enhancer.

It's always scary taking a new drug. Will it cause psychosis? halitotis? rhinitis? bursitis?

Fatique is its main side effect. Not to mention fatigue.

I slept very well. The anti-pain properties didn't kick in until four hours later. Then I was in less pain than ever before.

What a great opportunity to publish my poem, His Train. It's about a fellow poet at the Lambertville, NJ, River Poets' Group. George Dabrowski is now happily retired from his train job.

Before we met at the Lambertville library, the poets would meet at people's homes. The below poem takes place at the apartment of Joe Traceno. His wife Sylvia, a former Look mag cartoonist, recently passed away.


HIS TRAIN

George, when you called it, “my train,” my heart opened like a fan
and I saw all traces of your fine unspoiled face – where were the worry lines? –
and I saw you - not where we were –
at our host’s filigreed table with its spread of brie and tiny finger sandwiches –
but I put you instead aboard your train where you belong.
It’s yours, you know, and I watch you in your conductor’s uniform –
oh, maybe there are epaulets and an American flag pinned just below the collar,
a watch chain like in olden days
and certainly a captain’s hat with a rim that shines.

Steady yourself in the aisles, George. The train goes fast.
Lean against the back rails,
o learned’ man of the motion of the sway of trains,
let your knees and thighs keep you standing and let you
rectify yourself against the odd lurch.

I await you, George, and have come aboard your train this morning,
am riding it now, steadying my book and my cup of coffee,
listening, for the clash of door and pressing of the high-up button
that means we’re a go.
Your cheery mumble gets nearer
and the sound of clicking tickets
becomes an arpeggio of desire, waiting ‘til it’s my turn for
an oh-so-quick-will-he-look at me this time, like he did the last.

The brie and crackers stick in my throat, and you are there hovering
above me, George, offering me a glass of water.
O, forget them all, George, forget them all. It’s your train I want to ride,
dining face to face in what used to be the dining car.