The Edge of Town’s Last Light

Yellow paint flakes down like old sun,

spreading thin on that diner window frame.

Raindrops stitch cold dots across the glass,

a slow, soft beat beneath a peeling name.

We sat there once, waiting out the dark,

hushed voices folding over flickering light.

Babysitting the ghosts of grown-up talks

while neon sputtered its tired, fading fight.

That corner twists the road and time,

where every rust and crack tells what was left behind,

edge of a town stretching thin and tired,

lit last by fading glow and memories tangled tight.