I SING the boxcar rumbling and rolling afar, Rocking o'er prairies, clacking thro' populous towns, Laboring up long grades, griding down valleys, Marked for repairs, groaning with merchandise, Side-tracked, bumped about, loaded, reloaded again, Dusty and serviceable, the greatest traveler of all, Habitat of hoboes, chalked with their marks and scrawls— I sing the side-door Pullman, the changing vistas, The shifting panoramas of countryside, The waving fields, the farms, the villages. Away with your cushioned seats, your palace cars And the highfalutin names they wear on their sides! Give me the boxcar, having no name at all, Only a number—and give me a true-blue pal To dare the ups and downs of the Road with me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LAUGHTER (YOUTH SPEAKS TO HIS OWN OLD AGE) by CONRAD AIKEN CONTRA MORTEM: THE WHEEL OF BEING I by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE CRANES OF IBYCUS by EMMA LAZARUS FLUTE-PRIEST SONG FOR RAIN; CEREMONIAL AT THE SUN SPRING by AMY LOWELL |