Trading Places

It happened this morning.
I was caught by a train,
a slow train, a long train.

And as I sat back in traffic
I watched the businessmen
leave their BMWs and Mercedes behind.

With their ties flying and their coats flapping
they all made a mad dash
to catch the sides of the open boxcars.

And as they scrambled and struggled on,
the hobos who had been riding there
one by one jumped off.

With their bindles over their shoulders,
they all leisurely made their way
to those fine cars that had been left behind.

Much, I supposed, like Satan,
who after such a long fall
claimed his seat in Hell.