Entrance to Jackson Station (10/19/02) — Image by kenne
October in Double Bayou
puts a sort of easy wisdom in the air.
The water moves slowly,
the herons mind their own business,
and the road to Jackson Station
looks like it has carried
more stories than pickups.
A man would be a fool
to hurry through such a place.
— kenne
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Jackson Station, Double Bayu, Texas — Image by kenne
He stands in the shadow
zipper rasp loud as crickets,
beer can on the ground.
The pumps long silent,
just dust and a flickering
fluorescent store light.
Moonlight bathes the lot,
silver on gum wrappers, rust—
he waters the past.
Somewhere down the road,
the dance hall dreams in splinters—
still catching blues songs.
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