By seven the stores were nearly done,
the sidewalks thinning one by one,
the barber pole no longer bright,
the drugstore windows full of night.
A truck went by. A dog barked twice.
The air had that clear evening bite
that made the whole town seem held back
between the dark and leftover light.
I used to think small towns were dull,
too slow, too known, too full of faces
that had seen yours since you were small
and kept old versions in their places.
Now I think dull is not the word.
A town can look asleep and keep
more stories under one main street
than city people ever meet.