Under the westbound ramp for
Everglades Parkway
are concrete pillars blanketed in the sawgrass.
I've read there was a town here once,
a mousy crossroads with a population of four
bulldozed to the ground some forty years ago
to make way for a freeway interchange.
I drive the
Alley every weekend thinking of the debts
I owe to those four, to
Andy Poulos, namesake
of these secret ruins. I imagine their ghosts
huddled on the shoulder of the highway
in front of miles of
mammoth powerlines,
wondering when the next car will stop
in for a quick bite and some fuel.