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Boxcar

    Got another bad one.
    A flat spotted steel wheel
    thunk-thunks.
    I pitch and roll in my bag.
    The sound rattles no sleep.

    Off on a siding
    In the cold pine mountain dark now.
    The brakeman’s boots crunch
    On the gravel bed my way,
    Throws a light to my face.
    “Evenin”.

    I try another car.
    A fresh cardboard bed covers
    Grease and splinters.
    This luxury bequeathed me by a rider
    Who liked canned peaches.

    Six thunderous diesel engines
    Up track a mile throttle up.
    Cascades of clanks come down line
    My car lurches.
    Clothes and skin fumed gray.
    Mood hollow, leaving California.