Song on the Waterfront
       

I was here before the shed came down.
I photographed the weeds
against the boarded-up door.
I walked here with my camera,
my chest full of nails and salt.

I came along the railroad tracks
overgrown with loosestrife and ragweed.
I passed a woman singing in a cement field
believing she was alone.

I was here before the shed came down.
I took my picture on the rusted iron ramp.
I wanted it to look like I was walking
off the tip of the world and someone
behind me had just called my name.

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Copyright © 2016 Alison Prine All rights reserved
from Steel
Cider Press Review
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission