The Train Misser

A poem by James Whitcomb Riley

At Union Station

'Ll where in the world my eyes has bin -
Ef I hain't missed that train ag'in!
Chuff! And whistle! And toot! And ring!
But blast and blister the dasted train!
How it does it I can't explain!
Git here thirty-five minutes before
The durn things due! And, drat the thing
It'll manage to git past-shore!

The more I travel around, the more
I got no sense! To stand right here
And let it beat me! 'Ll ding my melts!
I got no gumption, ner nothin' else!
Ticket Agent's a dad-burned bore!
Sell you a tickets all they keer!
Ticket Agents ort to all be

Prosecuted - and that's jes what!
How'd I know which train's fer me?
And how'd I know which train was not?
Goern and comin' and gone astray,
And backin' and switchin' ever'-which-way!

Ef I could jes sneak round behind
Myse'f, where I could git full swing,
I'd lift my coat, and kick, by jing!
Till I jes got jerked up and fined!
Fer here I stood, as a durn fool's apt
To, and let that train jes chuff and choo
Right apast me - and mouth jes gapped
Like a blamed old sandwitch warped in two!

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