Returning home

and when i decided to return home, get on the midnight cannonball, as i was approaching the town station, the more i was thinking, the more annoying got the buzz in my head, picturing my mother and her long run lover, the sky pilot, who am i, Reverend Joness, with an s, the prolonged sound intended to be a sort of mockery, i am your Father, Yes, Sir, the truth is i am but an Angelina, don’t know who my dad is, two years on the road. the station is nearby, i grab my bindlestiff and on i go, but bulls are roaming around, so i turn left and then left again, no chance of getting a seat on the accommodation car tonight, since i left the station, and i kept turning to the left, it’s a common human behavior, as if no other directions existed and no other exits, no north, south, east or west, I’d probably sleep again in the bone orchard, considering to flip tomorrow if i’m lucky enough on the hills, where trains are slower, and as i was planning my moves next day, the home return, i felt my stomach grumbling, making more noise than the buzz in the head, i’d give my life for a steamy stew and golden potatoes, if only there was a soup bowl close, i can barely feel my feet, and i need to rest.