Rusted railroad tracks
buckle beneath the water tower.
The town has been abandoned
since the factory closed in ’45
and the assembly line of gears and sprockets
stopped rolling the sun through tedious hours.
The hard yellow sun
pulls dandelions from the rotting grade,
and I recall that you left on the last train
with a salesman in a seersucker suit.
I had nothing to give you
except the nickel-bright Midwestern moon
that watched us exchange vows by the lake
and slip inside each other’s skin.
Breath is shallow, short,
arteries twisted away from ties that bind.
I stutter-step through gravel,
recalling your last journey from my heart.
~William Hammett
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