The locals called him Boxcar Bob
with his legs dangling out the open door
he'd sit, picking through garbage behind the old sandwich shop
the boxcar sat abandoned on rusty tracks
forgotten, much like Bob
all but for the employees who would toss the broken rolls into the bin
or bring him warm soup in a styrofoam cup in winter
His bed was a cardboard box he insulated with newspaper
He'd ocassionally pick up an old coat or pair of shoes
from the donation box of Goodwill at night
The matted mustache and beard hid his decaying broken teeth
It didn't matter though, cause Bob never smiled
On Saturdays, the kids would come around
taunting and throwing stones
till he retreated into the car and closed the door
He'd put his hands over his ears while they banged and hollered till they got tired
Bob lived much like this as a child
abandoned by a drunken mother and knew of no father
never attended school
He lived with an angry old aunt with daily beatings
he slept in the cellar on an old cot
fed occasionally with old toast and hard boiled eggs
Bob's mind never wandered more than 50 feet beyond his boxcar
it was the only life he knew
.
Bob died and the vacant boxcar was eerie now
the few that knew of him felt the absence
they felt guilt
for hurting him
for not helping him
for mocking him
for hating him for who he was
they had to come to terms with who they were
.
but Bob's journey was over
he had no penance
for he was one of God's greatest creatures
free of hatred and judgement
a simple man
a beautiful soul
~~~~~
~~~~~