across the line

there was a time,
not too long ago,
when there were boiled
eggs,
pigs feet,
in grim pink water
floating
in a jar
on the counter.
girly magazines, and
cigarettes
just a quarter
on a rack,
everything in reach.
gas twenty-nine cents.
directions
free, a fold out map.
a big key attached
to a paddle
for the bathroom,
black and white tile,
a broken mirror,
a busted seat,
nothing ever cleaned.
writing on the wall,
numbers and names pressed
neat.
it was just a mile across
the city line, you could
see the monument from there,
but another world,
another language,
a different time.