A frigid gust blows in the window
And across the dusty floor
Broken glass and scattered trash
No one comes here anymore
Everything left where it was
As if they would return
Food left rotting in the fridge
Or on the stove to burn
This rusted junker of a car
Was someone’s cherished ride
The latest model at one time
Sitting dormant just outside
Retired to the elements
Beneath a cloudy sky
It sleeps on four flat tires
Forever on standby
Down the hill beside the house
A lonely railroad waits
For trains that won’t pass through again
On their way to other states
A mangled doll beside the tracks
Its clothing worn and tattered
Smiling still, recalling perhaps
The child to whom it mattered
