A Hobo on the Tracks

He holds hands with his memories.
Walks with a casual gait
on the first street tracks.
…
The grooves and liver spots
painted on his face
tell a heavy heartfelt story.

He does not notice
the rails creep in pain
from the weight of life
littered on miles of track.

He has an intimate connection
with the railroad.
Knows the history of every boxcar
filled with slush and slander.

The hobos life is tattooed
in every empty car.
Jumping on and off the train
is the signature of his life.

The only relief for a career hobo
are thousands of miles of memories.

He could smile for days.
He could cry for days.
He could alternate for days.
And never reach the bottom of his bank.

© Teresa E. Gallion, Wednesday, April 6, 2011