The yellow lights fell on the railway track
making the area look dirty and more neglected.
an old man made his way up the steps to the pedestrian bridge-
the one that covers the freeway.
He made his way half across
then stood, leaning against the wire fence
and looked down at the traffic.
I passed him on my way to town
and I passed him on my way back an hour later.
He had not moved.
If I grow old, I thought
I too will stand on that old bridge
and watch the traffic for an hour before heading back
to whatever lonely spot I call home.