Small Town Blues

Here’s a town where it’s always night.

A little town filled with sleep,

with soft breathing and nightingales,

its petty thieves stealing forty winks.

Where mice and cats play cat-and-mouse,

a single sputtering streetlight

reflecting upon the sources of darkness.

Welcome to where the stars come out

after a spell of warm rain.

A place couched in coy phraseology.

A town without beginning or end.

Just the moon’s face in a window.

A lone train whistle going unheard.

The last stop before morning.