Monday, April 3, 2017

“Last Train to Clarksville” by Dan Wilcox

"Just earlier that evening."
© MarkW. Ó Brien 2015

It was a text, “Take the last train to Clarksville & I’ll meet you at the station; be there by 4:30, I’ve made your reservation.”  

Which Clarksville?  There are 22 in the U.S.  No Clarksville train station here.

I didn’t recognize the number & tried calling it.  There was a lot of noise on the other end.  I think the woman said, “I’m leaving in the morning & I must see you again.  One more night together until my train in the morning, coffee-flavored kisses, & talk.”  Then she hung up.

Perhaps I was wrong.  I got in my car & drove up into the hills to the nearest Clarksville.  I was right, no train station.  No bus station.  Just narrow, deserted country roads leading to empty fields, crumbling stone fences, old houses.  No people, except in cars on the state road.  I realized that there’s nothing you can expect to happen in any town named Clarksville.

     There is no train to
Clarksville, last or otherwise —
      Fucking lost again.
© Dan Wilcox 2017
Dan Wilcox is the host of the Third Thursday Poetry Night at the Social Justice Center in Albany, N.Y.   
You can may read his Blog at and you can purchase his books @ apdbooks.

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