A poem: Junction Stockyards

JUNCTION STOCKYARDS

delinquent weeds burst from the crumbling concrete

mummified moth wings fly like paper into its cracks

washed out wooden doorways are funnels to the wind

rushing by on its way to everywhere in the trees

bending branches curl and reach out to join

in the breezy chorus scratching leaves dance a shuffle

dark imprints are the shadows of forgotten industry

nuturing goods attainable simple riches

they smoked quality tabacco and used

pipe cleaners then tipped their hats young and old

at the end of the day there was drink life

sucked up flesh and forward to today

holey brick and thriving rodent crawlers

know nothing but to hide behind the desolate night song