Running through the Delta,
horns sounding at invisible intersections,
this is the Amtrak–Capitol Corridor.
Sometimes you see boys,
men, old men coming home.
Gray sweatshirts and gray t-shirts,
very clean blue jeans are the uniform.
Tats and shaved heads the expectation
fulfilled. Quiet, sitting upright, stiff as board,
thoughtful observers wearing thin wire
glasses.
The final piece: a heavy-duty, clear plastic garbage bag.
Are these the remnants of incarceration, or of the life before?
Here they are,
visible, an x-ray that tells us absolutely nothing.
Welcome
home, brother. I am glad you are
free now.