these days, the only thing i worry about is leaving

photo by jd bedwell

the ticket counter waits
covered with dust
but no tickets will be issued
i can see the weeds now
making good use of the barren tracks
surely they still lead someplace?
or maybe no one
wants to go there
anymore.
i'm waiting
to hear the far off whistle
funny, now I think on kerouak,
i am, certainly as lost,
though i remain still
there is no engine chug chug
there is no whoosh of steam
though the door contains a squeak
and bangs hard in the wind
against the jam
i have no luggage
no destination
no one
expecting
me at all
funny how the clock still works
i wonder what's the point?
the trains no longer come here
life seems to have moved on
to someplace else
and no one
can even be bothered
to clean up this mess
to make way
for tomorrow
in a station filled with ghosts
that is where i stand
where i wait the arrival
of a future
that only exists
in my past.