A Hobo's Boxcar Confession

Switch let out a doggish yelp and

leaped to join his master.

They caught up in the barbwire

as we clattered down the track.

It was me who pushed Lea on the

ties and Jake, who kicked his dog.

And both of us who spooned his beans,

then smoked up his tobacco. 

But it was me who tore his bedroll.

There was nothin' to steal: a picture

of his Ma, my discontent before yonder

Gods, who'd judged me on those

scrubby plains, while I lay in 

straw corners, my guts bloated

with hatred for Lea’s crooked teeth,

his shuffling gait, his faithful mutt.

But it was Lea's generosity that 

heaped me.