[****] On The Bridge Over The Tracks

I smirk every time.
It precedes
the panorama
of the city
on my way to work
and succeeds it
coming home.
Reckless pink
epitaph,
how has nothing
washed you out?
I think if anything
has ever been
designed
to survive
the winter,
it's the stamp
of removal
yet to be removed.
Creeping
underneath:
noises of
trains.