Dogs barking, children in an
abandoned lot. Their game
interrupted by a dispute.
Small towns hold its players close,
leaving little room to maneuver
away from the center. Girls look at
magazines, shopping for images.
Young men sweat with strength, struggling
with self as they search beyond the
package of where they are. An old man
sits and leans against an idling locomotive;
its shadow is thick and warm.
His hand shakes as the bottle moves to his
mouth. He says he’s in diesel heaven,
and an angel lives in the library.
Roger Singer 