By John Grey
No one hops freights any more.
Nobody shares a railcar
with a dozen other forgotten men.
Instead, they coop up
in cheap inner-city third floor apartments
or under newspapers in alleys
or on the stoops of burnt-out tenements.
The trains roll by
without a body slipping aboard.
They get to where they're going
long after a lost soul
gets where he's going.
RETURN