Train station ghosts at the (DF)

The train comes and goes
and leaves the station empty.
Water drops from the street above
plink in puddles they’ve created,
and the sound speaks down
dark tunnels.

The doors close, the train kisses
this stop goodbye and whistles
off into the black tunnel.
The doors close and the train
takes the young with it.

Then water plinks down
in chrome drops into the wet
footprints of boots, heels, sneakers.

The station slowly fills
with loners, hands pocketed, pensive
disturbed by the mobs.

One of these trains will take you, too
and whistle you someplace
while the sound contained
like scream of wind
echoes in somebody’s ears.

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