Prose Poem
There are two images I can’t place. Both, I think, are from the same town and both were taken on the same Sunday drive. In the first a row of poplar trees line a road on the approach to a town. The leaves on the trees are turning so it must be autumn and the heaviness of the clouds in the sky suggest an approaching storm. In order to take the picture we must have pulled off the road, perhaps to a rest area.
The second image is of the main street of a town, probably the same town we are approaching in the first picture. The street is long and wide, cars are parked at 45 degrees to the kerb. In the middle distance a level crossing divides the town in two. There is a goods train crossing and a number of cars are waiting at the flashing lights for it to pass. There is a hint of smoke in the air above the wagons full of wheat.
I search the image for hints of the town’s name but find nothing. The names of the shops are small and slightly blurred and the sign near the level crossing is mostly hidden behind a truck.
Interesting topic for a poem; I like it.
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