Bygones

I drove down Highway 18
All the way from Zebulon to West Point
And the gradual dissolution and erosion
Of grand, old cotton plantations
And peach groves tracked across the hills
Was evident in the knots of bushes
And pine groves entwining,
And the simple lack of use.

The old country stores on the side of the road
Sadly, were slowly falling away, brick by brick,
The evidence of sales, long past
Fading on the rusting signboards
The occupants moved to cities
And towns with a better chance of livelihood.
Even the train tracks have been removed
The abandoned ties lying in stacks;
No way out except the cracked asphalt beneath me.