The trains still run here. Yesterday,
To think a bit, I drove a way,
Then reached a town of famous name,
And saw her waiting there.
Of college age, I think. I guess.
With something of a country dress
Beside the platform, with her case,
And a determined stare.
The train could not come soon enough.
That one thing I could tell.
Her destination heaven, or
This faded town a hell,
Or something else. I never will find out.
I drove on by not wanting to
Be creepier than poets are
By dint of our profession —
But if I had once chance, I’d ask.
To know her reasons and her tale:
And why leaving Plains, Georgia seemed
Like more than an