hey a poem

Someone said that in Wyoming
That a body could recover from
The N.Y. blues that leaves your
Soul so dry.
I bid farewell to Montauk
And the sadness in her eyes
Knowing somehow that I never
Would return.
Now the skies over Green River
Somehow are not that different
And the losing end remains the
Losing end.
Some days I’d trade my highway shoes
For a key to the door back home
But the past is smoke
And the locks beneath the clay
I often think of Montauk
Though the photo is all lined now
Knowing somewhere, some days
Montauk thinks of me