Hobo Medley

The boxcar suffers
from being over crowded.
Sardines in a tin
have more room.

The train puffs up the grade.
More smelly men
grind into the human jam.

Two newcomers
squeeze into the doorway,
hold on to promised lies.

Closeness filled
with distant thoughts

Mouths water
at the thought of
warm mulligan.

Some sleepers dream
until railroad cops
wake them
to reality,
with bloody heads.

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Filed under Literary, Literature, Poem, Poems for the people

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