2013-08-27

midnight strip mall

I wore dirty clothes and crouched in the thin shadow of a thinning shack at the end of day, the last light of day the color of old teeth. There are no blue hands to hold in the dusky evening of K-Mart display windows. Here comes the Moon. It smells like popcorn. My father's ghost haunts the overpass. The freight train boxcars smell like valley dust, peach orchards, or the loneliness of CLOSED signs illuminated in the windows of avenue strip malls well after midnight