Roadside Poem by jackilton peachum

ROADSIDE

I love the spots along the road where someone stop't,
but found they could not stay--
the abandoned store with strong front door,
locked now, human failure written here--
the house with big vacant glass panes you can see right through,
reading footage, empty room to empty room--
no one thrives here, of course, nor ever did,
only a few weeds, an air of loneliness,
and waiting a sign: This way out.