I can never remember the images
as well as the music:
the rhythm of the train
that runs all night long.
the noisy carousel
empty
except for the ghosts of lovers.
on the bus ride home
I could hear the buzz of her walkman
while she stared a hole through my jacket.
she was humming my favorite song.
Paul David Mena
13 February, 1997
Somerville, MA
