Bart Edelman




Hobo Train


Passes through each city,

Every night of the week.

But you can’t see it,

Unless your life is forged

Across the uneven rails.

Who knows the car’s destination,

How many stops it makes,

The curious route ahead.

Yet it glides, glass-like,

Timeless, on a schedule

Passengers never intend to keep.

Hear that horn in the distance?

It might be calling your name:

Dutch, Mother Rose, Early Bird,

Pearl, E-Z Zeke, Slow-Eyed Joe.



Maybe, Baby

Petition the stars.

Beg for immediate relief.

Anything to bring solace—

Atonement at its best.

I’ve got enough on my plate.

Offering you support, I’m afraid,

Wouldn’t do much good;

Besides, I’m a chronic liar.

If absolution is the ticket,

Try visiting the local priest.

Get him to issue penance.

Or you could drive the ambulance

I bought you for Christmas,

When the hearse was in repair.

Yes, maybe, baby, you’ll get better,

And I can discard the prayer,

Lodged deep my pocket.





Bart Edelman’s poetry collections include Crossing the Hackensack (Prometheus Press), Under Damaris’ Dress (Lightning Publications), The Alphabet of Love (Red Hen Press), The Gentle Man (Red Hen Press), The Last Mojito (Red Hen Press), The Geographer’s Wife (Red Hen Press), Whistling to Trick the Wind (Meadowlark Press), and This Body Is Never at Rest: New and Selected Poems 1993 – 2023 (Meadowlark Press).  He has taught at Glendale College, where he edited Eclipse, a literary journal, and, most recently, in the MFA program at Antioch University, Los Angeles.  His work has been widely anthologized in textbooks published by City Lights Books, Etruscan Press, Fountainhead Press, Harcourt Brace, Longman, McGraw-Hill, Prentice Hall, Simon & Schuster, Thomson/Heinle, the University of Iowa Press, Wadsworth, and others. He lives in Pasadena, California.