Crossroads
written by: Joseph Amendolare
Bean-pole rusted streetlamps
Shards of multi-colored glass, potholes.
A bus shelter;
thin plexiglass enclosure
barely enough to keep out the wind and rain.
In a train station, a Greyhound terminal
Nodding off in a hard plastic chair
a crushed pack of cigarettes
in my back pocket
the lonesome rail siding
its partnered boxcar
door yawning
A scary place to sleep;
sirens in the distance
prostitutes on the streets.
Seated at the counter
of a diner
I have no purse I tell the waitress
who disappears
returning a moment later
with a bowl of navy bean soup
and a crust of bread.
Knocking at doors
standing silently.
What do you want;
can I help you;
most slam the door shut
in my face.
I never answer
nor do I greet anyone on the road.
- Crossroads - January 19, 2026
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