The Red Sunset

I remember the red sunset
when the train hissed to a stop
swirling steam around my feet.

I remember the conductor at the door
and his agile jump to the platform
where he placed the step-stool
for more genteel descents.

I remember the woman and her dog.
Two children scurried behind her.
They ran and leaped into a man's arms,
she let the dog run loose and smiled
at the warm conclusion of her trip.

I remember the red sunset
as the conductor picked up the step
then jumped aboard the empty coach.

I remember the train, chuffing
as it pushed plumes of steam
and black smoke into the darkening sky.

I remember the red sunset.