Last Train Out

Midnight train leaves
so many stops behind
far more to come.

A red traffic light sun
left over from an angry july
tells me winter's coming hard.

Kelsie lights a cigarette
is she whispering goodbye,
or thinking I left long before.

An old map tells me
of the stops ahead
I've never stayed anywhere long.

I see Kelsie walk away
but exactly what from
and to whom?

The blind man told me
he can tell a hustler
by the lies he stole.

He can tell a cop
by the long pauses
between stolen breaths.

He can tell a harlot
by the way she moves
in the dark that he owns.

And I ain't half blind
no, not most days
when I leave the whiskey alone.

Yet even with closed eyes
I see Kelsie walking away
writing a goodbye.

As the train picks up speed
and everybody standing still
is just left behind.

I will get home soon
just another stop
but aren't all stops a lie?