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Description
Stowaway

bent at all his angles and tight between his ribs
stretched out, feet against the edge
he's rattling out east from kansas fields and sins
arms folded underneath his head

the seaboard's days away, the tracks will stop
and trains will start to make their bovine way through towns
with no way to count their little names or days
not much else to do but watch the tracks and lounge

awake as the train slows lets a grunt and hiss
from the head to bright eyes step
and wash the cars with halogens
like a rat I've shrunk into the boxes

shaking while they walk