There is a tumbledown whitewashed building
Delineated by a single small sign, BUS STOP
It’s choked off by a falling wire fence
On this side, on that side, with scraggly trees behind
Its roof has lost its shingles and it seems to lean
A faded orange OPEN sign announces to the dusty road
The occasional car quickly passing it sees
But they all go to some place, some destination
Paying no regards to this nothing-sight
And it weathers more years in the same dormant state

Jean Liew is a rheumatologist and clinical researcher in Boston, MA. She began writing about 30 years ago, with a period between 2007-2009 when she produced the bulk of her juvenilia.