In a small apartment, close enough
To the tracks he can hear the whistle
Twice a day, as the train--
One locomotive, boxcars, tankers,
And a dull red caboose--
Approaches the deadening.
Sometimes it wakes him
Enough he rolls over or goes to take a ****.
It's hard to sleep in the daytime anyway.
Nights he's stocking shelves--boosted
A little, when he has a dime--
Not a bad gig, except for the pay.