Crossroads at Alameda Depot
Alameda yearns for new lovers
to restore this stand-still stucco building
once clamoring, once lustful, now love-sick
for the choo-choo-chooing of the desert train
the Santa Fe pledge, the coal-pumping chant
its cherried heart, piping its tomorrow song
rail grooving, barreling into Cruces, panting
low grumble, that southbound howl of resolve
steel-pulsed promise, vagabond car ticks
sharp steam owl screeching through town
the bowling break-halt into stable
that payne’s gray flash-haze
the exhale, spent, called, came
smoking tail of Santa Fe fades
sun-yellowed smoke sifts, settles
dispels into calm empty space
the depot hush spills out
behind the sun-heated silver shack
insecurities spray-painted thick
generations crossing at still life tracks
on cell phones and ipod earbuds
bored, pedestrian, deaf to silent rhythm
decades lost and long ignored
the choo-choo-ing of the desert train
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