it was my fifteenth hour
headed north
on the cardinal route
a leaving delaware delirium
resting uncomfortably
in the lack of a sleeping car
back when jersey still had a shore
the train tracks were skimming us
toward a crashing nighttime death
in the black atlantic
sharks approach silently with their teeth
out the window
my eyes found
an iron bound
bridge glaring back at me
stretching the width of the garden state
wearing a red neon garter
as a sign
reading,
“Trenton makes, the world takes…”
and i knew then
all was lost
it was the september
of not wanting
to know more