Eight sardines
                  (Some sad
And needing to pee)
Packed in the company
Ford Fairlane
Stuck at a RR track
In Beaver Damn where
A girl in a red dress
On a porch swing
Dark hair flowing
Smiles at me (pressed
Against the rear window)
With a face I cannot read
      Up the crossing gates go
Dad starts our slow depart
And to my diappoint
She gives no wave

In Central City
I see my Mr. Hershey’s
Back pocket melted sludge
Messier than baby sister’s
diaper and three hours yet
to Uncle Mike’s