When The Neon Is Gone

 

Everybody wakes at the same times in this town, when the trains are railing through. 

Gingerbread people with holiday welcomes to the conductors and well wishes to the cabooses.  Ghost of Sonny Rhodes working those lap steel strings, burning up Blazers Bar and Grill.  Drinking wine out of a coffee cup, the blues lifted temporarily by scales and fermented grapes.  

Dreariness thrives in the thirsty silence, when the neon is gone.