An Alone Poem
I was all alone
at Kendricks Crossing, Wyoming
sitting Indian style on the rough wood
of a Burlington Northern Railroad
flat bed car.
Discussing life with an itinerant hobo,
when he jumped up and left
a half empty pail of rail spikes
along with his hammer.
For the beckoning call
of an open door
on a Santa Fe rail car.
Leaving me alone
to watch the sunsets
silhouetted against the ridges of the Big Horns.
Dying with the dull aching
in the muscles of my arms
between the lines
of one of my poems.
Written in Sheridan, Wyoming
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