Believe it or not there aren’t any people living in this town
People pass through, take pictures of the bridge
and that’s it
I come out here on Mondays
watch the small trucks come
and pick up fish from the pier
then back across the bridge
I watch the photographers at dawn
I watch different ones come in at twilight
No one notices me because I am invisible to them
I lay on the grass
with the rabbits and the robins and the flying ants
I pretend that I am like them
but I am an alien in this wilderness
a foreign body floating
just out of focus
in an eye looking up at cloudless skies
I blend in but don’t belong
Still, I am never counted.