The Transient

Down a prairie road he trudges Kicking up dust in the sultry summer Of a late August sky Many follow with a tune in their heads And carboard in their shoes Shirts soaked with sweat Knarled hands and gaunt faces A hole in their pockets And eyes that stare but do not see Last cigarette tucked behind An ear red and peeling Mosquitoes bite sunburned flesh Throws his leg over the barbed wire A train whistle sounds in the distance Yes, the rail is singing Jump on the train And travel on to nowhere town Maybe a job for a few pennies? A cup of hope