The Paradise Cafe

It's the kind of afternoon when lonely men grow old

an hour at a time

I see them waving from the windows of the Paradise Cafe as we slip past like northbound ghosts

Their silent image remains wrapped in blue smoke ..framed against a purple storefront

fading in the late sun, fading like the days last cigarette

fading like these small towns along the tracks

fading like loves lost memories at closing time

fading like lonely men

an hour at a time.