The Boston Nights

by C.M. Crockford

The Boston nights:
The ones that spit cold at you,
leaving you longing again
for love's safe places,
far from scattered snows.

The Boston nights:
Where the pipes rattle
in strangled tongues,
makes you think about
violent California.

How is she?

Do they think about you?

Do they still sing their bright winding song?

The Boston nights:
When the train grinds down
over crushed cans, ripped wrappers,
the weary tracks
bearing Rough Riders
to soft, patient lands.