Outside there's a boxcar waiting

Standing in the december rain, waiting for a bus, a train, anyway out of the cold of my head. I know that's not my destination, but do I really know? Yes, sometimes. Sometimes I just need the sleeper compartment for the night. Sometimes, it seems, I'm just walking down the street, minding my own business, and a car rolls up, a shiny, not a shiny, an endearing sort of well-worn, rough around the edges sort of car, and the driver asks for directions; the driver asks if I need a ride; and I think perhaps my purpose has been found.

When my train comes, I never really feel certain my train has come. Usually I rise, befuddled, and hope I don't end up in the nearest/farthest small town home to your local barber/taxidermist/funeral home combo-shop. I'm never really sure until the conductor comes on and announces the destination, and even then, the fat lady next to me is yelling at her rather obediant children, or something like that, and I still feel lost.

On and off the train...I'm just standing on the tracks, and then here comes my train again. It's warm, it's glowing, and I'm struck.

"Outside there's a boxcar waiting."

Hmmm.