70spoems/salinas

AT THE SALINAS TRAIN STATION

At the Salinas train station
the varnished wood benches
are interrupted only
by chrome bars dispersed
in symmetrical intervals.
In the corner a Mexican man
is sleeping or drunk,
or despondent.
When something
rattles his dream
he notices my presence,
picking up the broom
he circles the station,
smearing the red tiles
like a vulture closing
in on his prey,
each circle closer
and tighter,
until his broom
is beneath my feet.
I avoid his eyes,
knowing his looks
or his language
will hold him here,
just as I am
locked out
of my own
dreams.