Imagine a junkyard
in a small town
Littered with hundreds of cars
all makes and all models

There’s thousands of beer bottles
and broken needles
with scattered shotgun shells
that color the ground

Look at the old washing machines
that have seen generations of clothes
or the cycle of burnt toy dolls
each having a story to tell

There’s a battered boat
surrounded by puddles
and a dented metal chair piled on top of playground equipment

At the edge of all the scraps
is a small brick shack
covered in graffiti
and on the inside are some worn vinyl records
with stacks of old magazines piled next to the other trash

Just beyond that building
are train tracks
Kerouac knew the secret of the railroad
They whisper the romance of travel and movement

And past that fantasy is the forest
where the deer play
While the squirrels climb up
the endless trees
As the birds soar past the rust
hoping they won't have to find a new wood to nest in