A blue bike leans against the iron railing.
It is bright summertime in Ukraine
and the railroad lady tends a garden full
to blooming with cucumbers, beetroot, squash
she bends over in a frock like livery.
Her blue buttoned uniform blossoms from beneath
the frock, the cuffs kissed with splashes
of dirt kicked up from the motley flower pots.
She hears a distant whine—
she unties the bow and drapes it
on the trellis, taking a yellow
flag from her unbuttoned pocket.
O, how little the people attend
but all is well on the tracks ahead.