Small Town Somewhere Sunday

Small town somewhere Sunday

Dead, deserted.

A lone dog

Bored with the porch

Stretched out in the middle

Of Main Street,

Service station sign

Squeaking on rusty hinges,

The wind whisking dust

And bits of things

Like a ruptured rodents nest

Twirling just above

The ground.

Out of nowhere

A woman,

Barefoot, beautiful,

A see through chiffon,

Stepping lightly

Stepping somewhere

Waking a wonder

Why the rest of the town

Seems sleeping.

Stephen Nesbitt ©