The T runs down the heart
of the bridge.
The cars shake in the dim light
left by the dregs of the day.
May-green trees and May-green weeds
shine, still slick and fresh from rain.
I walk on the edge of the bridge
by a low stone wall.
The rainfall slows.
The Red Line train is gone.
I walk and walk.
First published in Residual Heat under my pseudonym Aga Black.