Beusselstraße

It stands high along the tracks,

Skinny and awkward,

Three stories,

Graffiti-covered,

Half-timbered in a city of stucco and brick.

It stands high above the long carriages,

The wagonnen, headed to Hamburg, Hannover, Bremen.

Who lives here now?

An old station man, using his cane to get up the stairs?

Ten spiders, observing ancient railway schedules?

A teenager from Poland?

A boy brushes his teeth before his date, spits off the bridge over the moving train.

He will stop at the grocery store on the way to the apartment,

Buying peaches, olives, an avocado.

He walks south now, toward the river.