Amsterdam, Ohio

She walks down the sidewalks,

they haunt empty.
Rain bounces off gray-crumble
of old pavement
making rainbow-spins with
the black-spill of old cars

in her splash puddles

Sunshine rains,
in her green-hill horizon
she pictures forgot-about back roads
winding ways through trees
older than the almost ghost town
they shelter.

Ohio valley twilight, fog-swirl
dense-thick as clouds
drapes lazy over everything,
indiscriminating symmetry
of gray-blue haze
cleaner-fresher than
familiar steel-mill smog.

She whistles at the W,
his concrete, weathered white-wash
standing stoic by the tracks.
They're both remembering a train
that never comes.

Submitted by: Cindy Kelly