by Melanie Browne
I start haunting the tracks,
a woman drinks May Wine
over my grave,
it starts to rain,
sometimes people
want to take pictures,
but I never smile,
that would be rude,
I am
floating in front
of the sleeper car
where he first
seduced me,
softly singing
Guthries' ‘Last Train’,
and now the rain
has stopped,
the woman staggers
towards her house,
clutching at her heart