Not A Paradise Poem by Francis Santaquilani

Under blue sky
I watch two herrons
Standing side by side
On the riverbank,
Ignoring the rushing water
And the frantic fish,
Their eyes follow a train
Passing overhead until
The low sun melts the last car.

They remind me
Of the old transvestite twins,
Sporting beehive hairdoo wigs,
Red lipstick, red nail polish
And matching outfits,
Waiting to board a train
In Blue Island, Illinois.
Which is not an island, and
Never blue.