251

At all intersections the lights
Hang empty, their casings
Swinging out upon the breeze.
Cars make provisional moves
In the space beneath them,
Each junction a negotiation.
The neighbourhoods resound
With the bellowing of solitary
Fire engines. Street signs and
Political hoardings lie where
They have fallen in the fallen
Leaves, tangle of sodden brush
And torn treelimb. By the side
Of the road the plants lie flat.
Power gone from here to
Shippan and the drab sound :
Families gather before their
Lightless corner stores and
Wait. North of the junction
The interstate's bland thunder,
South a raised section of the
New Haven line, where for
Two days a train of carriages
Have lain idle in their dark.