My Summer on Raspberry Hill **, a rewrite of an older freeverse Options

[Ali zonak]

My Summer on Raspberry Hill

In 1944 I was too young
to go to war.
Coal-fired locomotives,
like smoke-belching dragons,
dragged draftees away
to boot camps, then to be
swallowed up by battlefields.

Trainloads of young men
passed Raspberry Hill.
At each whistle blow
we stopped picking berries
from laden bushes and rushed
to the overpass, leaned
over the railing,
waiting
for the dragon’s smoke
and vapor to carry us
to his fearful
lair among the clouds.

We heard the whooshing
of wings. Not the dragon,
but an army scout plane hard-landed
on the railroad tracks.

Uninjured, the pilot grinned goofily
and waved:
“Hey, kids! Did ya see him?”
“Who?”
“The Jap with a blister on his ass . . . .”
But there were no Japanese soldiers;
that fly-boy must’ve been flying
upside down far too long.

Our Mexican farmhand
scampered down the embankment,
ran along the tracks waving his bandana
to warn the approaching dragon.
The monster screeched,
stopped . . . just in time.

From above we stared
at those gaunt faces below
peering through windows:
enemy prisoners,
heading for POW camp.

Moments later, the dragon snorted,
puffed and screamed.
We rushed to the other bridge railing
for one more look
at those foreign soldiers.

“Crummy Nazies,” someone said,
but the rest was swallowed up
by the shrieking dragon
as he turned around the bend
and then out of sight.

We picked more berries
to fill our buckets.
Agnes placed one between her lips,
and I stole the succulent fruit
with mine. On Raspberry Hill.

[Eisa]

This is wonderful, Ali! You are certainly a great story teller.

I love the dragon like descriptions:

Coal-fired locomotives,
like smoke-belching dragons,

waiting
for the dragon’s smoke
and vapor to carry us
to his fearful
lair among the clouds.

Moments later, the dragon snorted,
puffed and screamed.

I remember steam trains so well. My grandparents had quite a long garden and the railway line used to run just past the end. I used to love to see a train come by - smoke belching and always waved at the driver who waved back. Happy memories!

I can't see anything I would change here, I just enjoyed every line.

Look forward to your next.
Eira

[Ali zonak]

This is wonderful, Ali! You are certainly a great story teller.

I love the dragon like descriptions:

Coal-fired locomotives,
like smoke-belching dragons,

waiting
for the dragon’s smoke
and vapor to carry us
to his fearful
lair among the clouds.

Moments later, the dragon snorted,
puffed and screamed.

I remember steam trains so well. My grandparents had quite a long garden and the railway line used to run just past the end. I used to love to see a train come by - smoke belching and always waved at the driver who waved back. Happy memories!

I can't see anything I would change here, I just enjoyed every line.

Look forward to your next.
Eira

Hello, Eira;
it's always a pleasure to share a story with fellow-writers who can relate to long-past events and trying times. A friend of mine has a home in Goshen, Indiana, with the tracks running right alongside his back yard, just as was the case with your grandparents. It's hard to imagine trains passing though every hour, day and night. He is so used to it, he'll never leave his home--while alive. I'm glad you liked my story. Thank you, Eira. Ali