Chugging up five flights of stairs

To catch that palindromic diesel,

Doubled engines and cars faced fore and aft like Janus,

I hit the top and step onto the platform

Breathing steam high above town

As rain shoots from a slate sky in bursts

Over the stolid shapes of old Mettmann

Unbombed in the last one

A functional town, having not needed 

A twee recreation

From photographs, old plans and memories–

They decorated at the end with table cloths

Napkins, any white flag

Hung out windows and off the occasional Balkon

To greet the new bosses in olive drab 

And combat boots

Anything but the Ivans was welcome by then

All around the cities were compressed

Into waves of rubble–

There is a rumble to the east

But the curving track remains empty so

I turn–below me the Galeria

A box of goodies beckoning

Beyond that crooked streets

And horizon where

A church steeple indicates

The sky 

Around its knees house lights just on, darkening afternoon–

The signs on the platform glow with news

The train to Düsseldorf HBF

Is held up

We on the platform wait,

Staring into glowing palms

Or into nothing

Over the tracks the trees shake their limbs

Pinwheeling leaves spread

A benediction, a promise of frost

But nothing’s certain

Anymore