By Ronald J. Pelias
Riding the rails you see the backs of things. You slide through towns of no names. Stones of the dead face the other way. Silos sit like fat sentries. You pass Ace Lumber and Auto Parts. Big Brother’s Pizza and Town Plaza. Short’s Furniture Store and Self Serve Storage. Small, once white, houses spot the fields. Lawn ornaments of donkeys, dogs and flamingos. Dobermans chained to thick trees. Neighbors leave abandoned cars to rust. Broken chairs, rusted pots, tires and cans. A child’s stuffed bear, leg ripped loose. A swing stirs in the wind. The children aren’t in their yards.
After spending most of his career writing books that called upon research, Ronald J. Pelias now “just lets his writing lead him where it wants to go.”