The Depot

A young man in a loud
print shirt, baggy shorts, flip

flops, makes
a balance beam
from a track rail. Records

a freight train’s flight
through the station
to replay and give false hope to future

passengers dodging bats
passing under the eaves. Lights
from boats on moonlight

excursions and the Harbor
Bar across the channel
on the island with no name

transform the river
into a stage. Others wait
to travel west:

White Fish, Montana,
Portland, Oregon,
Chico, California,

eventually. For me, the waiting
will be longer than the journey home.

4 thoughts on “The Depot

  1. Such longing in this poem. Wonderful images and vignettes that transport the reader right to the place. Lovely. (An interesting note, my “barge” poem–with no barge–starts out with bats. Do we have some kind of sonar going on?

    Like

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