'Out of a dark hole
I came,
Into a dark hole
I'll go.'

So said the brakeman
Hand on the lever—
Squealing apparatus,
Mountainous inertia,
Diagonal rain.

Leaning on the rail,
The hobo—
Bearded like a Russian,
Attentive like a disciple—
The brakeman continues:

'When the Germans come
I'll say willkommen—
The third time is indeed
The charm.'

The train stops—
Moving off the platform
The hobo turns
Rain in his eyes
'Usual time, usual place?'

The brakeman nods
Smooths his mustache—
Danville muck city:
A few shots with a hobo,
Maybe a quick fuck,

'A fine tradition,'
He says to no one,
Snaps his cracked leather
Valise shut.

His replacement arrives—
Tip of the hat
Punch the clock
Through the coal dust
Into the twilight trainstop.

The usual bar—Freddy's—
The usual pint and shot—
The scratch of dead vinyls
Through defective speakers—
The usual hobo companion—

'How long we done this?
Pissing away our livers.
Someday—
Someday I'm gonna really…'

Someday he's gonna really
Fall piss drunk
Off the back rail
Somewhere in Iowa—
Midnight snack for coyotes

And vultures
While the train brakelessly
Pummels through the next
Station, killing no one—
Wide-eyed anticlimax.

D. Richard Scannell is the author and illustrator of www.ForTheHermits.com . Someday, he may do something really exciting, but for now he's content to just consider the possibility. Reading the climax of Moby-Dick when Ishmael and Ahab fight off the pod of whales with their bare hands was a pivotal moment in his life.