from the train it’s all backyards
of ramshackle houses
edged in rusted chain-link
fencing or tumbled stone
walls. with dusk fast
approaching most lots
are abandoned, save
the occasional
threadbare couch
or truck set on blocks.
and as we roll slowly past
the lone traffic light
flashing in this
anonymous town,
a gang of shirtless boys
make funny faces as we pass
before a derelict station
which time has forgotten
suddenly blocks
them from view.
