The train stops running at midnight
and I am half past twelve
but the night is warm
and I am safe
Music from the street
hums up through the platform
so I will wait awake
let darkness prick my skin
and watch sun rise
till the morning train comes
I am waiting at a station watching
tumbleweed popcorn in the distance
A gust tugs at my straw sun hat
Alligator suitcases collect dust at my feet
and I shade my eyes to squint down the tracks
believe I see its smoke swelling closer
not knowing this train will never come
poem originally published in chickenpinata; a journal of poetry
http://www.chickenpinata.com/I4--Colon.html
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