Somewhere along the high line
the string of track from Portland to Chicago, that teases the Canadian border,
playing hard to get.
the string of track from Portland to Chicago, that teases the Canadian border,
playing hard to get.
she is sitting in a hobo jungle next to a pile of ash
which once warmed the bones of many a traveler.
This jungle is a temple of creosote and broken bottles,
littered with alters of waiting.
she is smoking hand rolled war stories
opening a can of refried dreams with a military issue p38which once warmed the bones of many a traveler.
This jungle is a temple of creosote and broken bottles,
littered with alters of waiting.
she is smoking hand rolled war stories
all the while, serenading steel dragons
"freight train freight train runnin so fast
freight train freight train runnin so fast
please don't tell them what train I'm on
they wont know what route I've gone"
She is casting invisibility spells
whispering on the wind
"There are no filthy faces in those bushes
no bandit elves
no hobo children playing at freedom"
and the bull in his white truck rolls past her to continue on his search.
She hears the brakes hiss airing up
and quickly climbs aboard unseen
the dragon creeks and thunder rolls down the line
as it jolts into motion, moaning and creaking
the cry of steel wheals on rails, is ringing in her ears,
she is hidden in a rusty 48 car
face and hands covered in diesel grease
wind blown
eyes sparkling
wings ablaze
"freight train freight train runnin so fast
freight train freight train runnin so fast
please don't tell them what train I'm on
they wont know what route I've gone"
She is casting invisibility spells
whispering on the wind
"There are no filthy faces in those bushes
no bandit elves
no hobo children playing at freedom"
and the bull in his white truck rolls past her to continue on his search.
She hears the brakes hiss airing up
and quickly climbs aboard unseen
the dragon creeks and thunder rolls down the line
as it jolts into motion, moaning and creaking
the cry of steel wheals on rails, is ringing in her ears,
she is hidden in a rusty 48 car
face and hands covered in diesel grease
wind blown
eyes sparkling
wings ablaze
3 comments:
This is simply fabulous. Hail our traveling faerie princess and may she always return safe, happy, whole and greater beloved of her freedom.
I knew some "box car annies" in the early 1980s...and I am very happy to see that someone is still actively participating in this tradition.
Safe Journeys!
Luna
Excuse my "junior-senior moment".
I meant to write "boxcar bertha's".
I knew several young women in the early 80s doing this, and you are all a very unique breed!
I'd LOVE to see any "hobo sigils" that you have collected in your travels.
L
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