Orange-Clad Train-Climber Crew, Moving  
 Along  The Rusty  Cargo  Cars  Like Some 
 Species  Of  Ferrophage  Insect. Up  And 
 Down  The Train,  Checking Bolts, Oiling 
     Joints, Drinking Coffee, Smoking     
 We Were  Going  South Through Finland At 
 The   Time,   Sleeping  Close   To   The 
  Furnace, Watching The Aurora borealis.  
   Twenty-Something Members Of The Crew,  
 Most   Of  Which   Were  Mechanics,   Or 
 Loaders,  With  Large  And  Hairy  Hands 
 That  Could  Swallow My Entire Body. And 
 Me  Featuring As  The Cute  And  Asocial 
 Radio Operator,  Stationed  In  The Back 
    Of The Kilometer-Long Train, Which    
         Served Me Good And Well.         
 And Then One Night, There'S  A  Missile. 
 We  Would Routinely Pick  Up New Cars At 
 The Tail, And  Drop Some Off, As  A  Way 
 Of  Earning  Some  Extra  Money.  But  A 
 Missile,  And Appearing  Silently In The 
 Middle  Of   The  Night   At  That?  Not 
         Entirely... Comfortable.         
 I Call It In  On The  Walkie-Talkie. Not 
 Many  Others  Awake, They  Know  Nothing 
 About It, And Appear  Concerned As Well. 
 When  I  Fall  Awake  In  The Afternoon, 
 Karl  Is  There,  Smiling  At  Me.  "Hey 
 Boy,"  He Says,  "Wanna Help  Me  Make A 
 After He'S  Brought  Me  Coffee,  I Dial 
 The  Frequency From  His  Notebook,  And 
 After  A  While   There'S  A  Reply   In 
 Pan-Slavic.  Karl  Laughs  And  Makes  A 
 Reply In The Same  Language. Even Though 
 We  Both  Have Headphones I Can'T Follow 
 At All,  But I Hear The Word "Missile" A 
                Few Times.                
 I'M  Almost  Snoozing Again  At The Time 
 Karl Puts Down The  Headphones And Slaps 
 Me  On  My Back. "Allright  Boy. I  Just 
 Sold  A  Missile."  He Practically Beams 
 At Me, Teeth Filed Sharp.  "Wanna Make A