James Whitcomb Riley

The Train Misser

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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