Realism in Prose Fiction

The village is quieter
Even than normal for it.
No one is on the Main St.

The shops have closed for the day,
Not that there are many shops
Still in business any day.

The locals have headed home
For the evening already,
And there are no visitors.

The village is perfectly
Emptied of any people
In its middle. Anyone

Who might see must be watching
From behind a closed window
As two crows caw on a wire,

And the buildings throw shadows
That merge before vanishing,
And nothing comes down the street.