His shoes
 are beaten dogs
 that have decided to lie down
 in the dust.  He wears
 the face of someone resigned
 to waiting in lines.

 

 Doesn't he know the railroad hasn't run
 through this ghost town
 in years?
 But the weathered train schedule
 he holds
 shows it due at 10 a.m.
 He pats his stovepipe hat
 and glances down the tracks
 as if expecting to see smoke
 from a train's boiler
 on the horizon.
 He glances at his watch.
 It's hot and fanning himself
 he sits down on a bench.
 He yawns. 
 Minutes later he's awake.
 He panics.  He's missed his train!
 He runs up to the rails.
 He digs his heels
 in. 

 

 He glances at his schedule.
 He's reassured.
 The next train is due

 

 at noon.