He loves his trains, he loves them
he’d even take them to bed if he could
he knows them all by name
whether metal, plastic, or wood.

He lays out the tracks on the floor
from the roundhouse going as far as he can
for as long as he’s got tracks in his hands,
he’ll keep going, there is no set plan

till not a track is left in his hand
though there seems to be some destination
that only he knows of, only he sees
there can be no other distractions

until to the bridge the trains come
then everything has to be just right –
in line, head to tail, in some order
he lines them all by sight

and then just as he began, he’ll forget them,
each and every one
on to something else, something different
train tracks now forgotten

via Journey Into Autism | Finding My Way Through A Child’s Diagnosis.