At least the waves still whitecap,
leaving an echoing crashing on the
pavement
for the abandoned building to hear.
The stop light still works, flickering
yellow to red, red to yellow.
The rusted red car on its four flat tires,
still plays its radio leaving a faint
static noise,
waiting for the light to turn to a dim green.
The seagulls still flap their wings,
fighting the wind that trashes them around,
letting out cries for help for only the
vacant town and open air to hear.
The once-populated town, with
its gas station on the corner for 78 cents
a gallon,
the town halls clock tower stuck at 12:41,
and the bakery with its smell of warm
soft bread right out of the oven,
but those are just washed out memories
now, washing away like waves.