Dolores and Eddie

Dolores and Eddie, perpetually slumped on a steamer trunk
The Gaiety Dance Team is on the skids again
Lost in Vaudeville’s faint and lonely echo
Eddie’s running through the act in his mind, tinkering, scheming
Fingering the old-soft-shoe sand in his pants pocket
Dolores stares, red-eyed, at the platform floor
Her tiny purse is empty and gaping on her lap
Variety is tucked under Eddie’s right bicep
Dolores knows it’s time to call it quits
But Eddie just won’t give in
He’s fumbling in his tattered jacket
Searching for his Luckies
Dolores sighs and watches for a salesman
Anyone with a dollar or two
And a way the hell out of here
Eddie stands and strikes a match to his last Lucky Strike
He paces up and down, his heel cleats clicking on the platform
He feels the train’s rumble long before it lumbers into the depot
Dolores cranes her neck, peers down the track, hoping maybe, just maybe
This train won’t stop