Humansdorp.

As I remember it, it was late afternoon in a light drizzle when I came back to the place;
not much there to even remember it by other than the name, Humansdorp.
I stood by my car at the train stop looking at the sign trying to decided if it was
pronounced as Human's Dorp and if so what was a dorp and more importantly who
was this guy Human? Unless, it was human not Human than the dorp could be a
condition like a state of mind at the end of a long day when most men would go
do the main street in search of a drink. Unless there was another way to say it-
like in the dying language of the people who may have built it, it could be U-mans
Dor (p silent) then the connotation would take on a new meaning as Umans might
have a doorway to another place other than this dusty town nestled on the cape
coast looking out into the Indian Ocean without much complaint other than to say
Hey! What the big deal? Are you staying or not?
Silently, I get back into my rental car, driving away into the rain that turns this
town, this Humansdorp to mud in my memory.

note: just realized this is one of those poems you have to not read aloud.