Sleep past noon in the lewd stares of toys

left on curbs after eviction

and right through that impatient horn

with shadow thrown threw the gate.

One permanently resides near the unfixable man

I swore I loved though I knew I could not

care anymore than this train that passes

slowly as regret, to stop this town’s two-car

traffic as well as the sleep of one who faded

far enough to emerge neither lost nor home.

Erin K. Lambert (NY)  holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Syracuse University, where she was the 1998 recipient of the Elise G. Mead fellowship in poetry. Her writing has appeared in Blackbird, Diagram, Mudlark, and elsewhere.