BUMMING THROUGH INDIANA
John Grey © 2008
So they weren't tramps at all
but clowns in that box-car.
Not the usual unshaven chins,
tattered hats, ragged flannel shirts
and ancient corduroys
but painted red faces,
red light bulb noses,
bright red wigs,
red polka-dotted baggy pants.
I figured when
I jumped that freight
I'd have the usual
bleary-eyed, garble-tongued,
forgotten men for company.
Instead, I spent the
entire trip to Muncie
entertained by crazy slapstick,
trick bicycles with farting horns,
and a black and white dog
that jumped through hoops.
At least,
I think they were clowns,
it being dark and dreary
in that rumbling box-car.
All I know is
there was more than enough red
to go around,
wheels spun, noise broke wind,
creatures leapt, barked, yapped,
and I couldn't die for laughing.