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.
