A Tunnel of Steel Reserve

Empty Steel Reserves,
individually bagged,
lay in a slim, brick-walled
tunnel under US route 1,
along with a few cans of
Coors and a beer you wouldn't
recognize side of tall boy
reading -IDE, offering
some kind of story of
night, from the night,
before, it's raining now,
cold, hard, January rain,
last night rained even harder,
imagine those hands seeking
respite from freezing wetness
of closing hours, darkened streets,
lonely highway passages,
imagined drunkenness, sadness,
un-watched aching eyes
peering into the fluorescent
bitterness of tunnels lights,
strange, english muffin looking
dripping ceiling scratched lengthwise
bladed hand of some horrible
nightmare beast,
imagine fumes of beer,
a story to fill last hopeless hours
of the day, day gone now, fading
into memory, imagine leaning
hearts, folded, buried, wishful
of old places, better days,
imagine a story lost
to time and ignorance,
speaking sorrowfully, gladly,
maybe regretfully to me as
I avoid the rain,as I
drink in the mornings
stories.