waiting on a train

i'm always waiting for a train
to take
me somewhere.
waiting for the long dark
cars to approach
and screech to a halt.
it's film noir.
hands in my pockets.
hat on,
looking down the steel
rails,
the wet cinders,
grey
and black. it's late
in the afternoon
and the trees are almost
bare.
what's left of them are shades
of plum or brown.
I stand and listen
for the wheels, for
the signal,
the blow of a whistle.
i'm always on the platform.
one bag
beside me.
the life I once had
long gone.
no map, no where to really
go.
but ready, always ready
to get on board
and go.