As she stood, she blinked back
the sun saturated dust motes.
Like a crash landed butterfly, crumpled
shoulders slumped to the base
of this dirty sunbeam slant.
It was a strange slightly alien place,
and yet familiar, like a family photograph.
Once she used to live inside the lines,
now it felt like she had been left behind.
It was eerie in the empty station,
all those daily faces had vanished,
evaporated as the water ran dry.
A dusty town, an empty mind
no timetables adorned the walls
no sight or sound of the next train calling.
The bluebird’s song is long since gone,
a ghostly chink of china rides the breeze.
Her thoughts echoed off the empty
platform, as all the nameless, faceless,
shameless pushed on by.
© Copyright 2016 Abigail Baker