Boxcar Rockstar

The old man has no teeth
two shoes but no laces,
an in­com­plete look in his eyes.

He plays a gui­tar
with on­ly five strings.

I imag­ine him tour­ing,
coal pile to steel mill.

During the long nights he watch­es
for the glow of an­oth­er town
and rubs the spray-paint­ed
door of his box­car.

Before sleep he pats his gui­tar
and thinks about a pair of socks.

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