new moon rising
we walked between the lake
and the rail yards
smoking cigarettes
and spitting on
century-old ties
wondering if the midnight train
will ever arrive on time
it was a year ago tonight marshall
died on these very tracks
attempting to escape
his own restlessness
his dream of starting a
new life
in st louis or kansas city or santa fe
seemingly interrupted
we made a fire
like we always do
and sat in a circle
our voices as quiet as
stones skipping on water
our karma just a little off kilter
one of us asking out loud
why there is no moonshine
november two thousand thirteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved
jdubqca 
Great phrases in this one, J.
I especially liked
“stones skipping on water
our karma just a little off kilter”
It has a sad, happy feeling.
in my mind ‘karma’ and ‘kilter’ naturally led to ‘asking’ – thanks so much, Millie ;`)
A completely compelling story written beautifully-really fine, John, really – K
Thank you so, much, Kathleen. Geatly appreciate your patronage here. xo
Love the chronicles of the hobo culture–their journeys, life views. This is a wonderful poem, nostalgic of an era for me. All the images of the Depression and those B&W movies and their characters come flooding back.
Thank-you so much for commenting on this piece, Tess. So glad it rings true to you. xo