Young man.
You know something is missing.
Something up ahead is broken,
not right,
ruined.
You walk on the bridge
waiting for a train to come,
while you put one foot on the silver rail
and one on the outer ledge.
Looking down your dark hair falls into your face,
and your shirt is far behind you.
The trash that is beside you
reminds you of what you feel you are.
I want to shout no.
Just stop.
Think.
But your back is facing me,
and you’re too far away.