. . .A Hobo's Last Dream
JUST A HOBO . . .
. . .he's finally at rest.
Death smiled. Flames kissing mom. Birthing pure blood, I knew
Shame in hand. Hungry veins. Vapored goodbye's-a walking
Stupid hope. Sparks for a shade. I sit. Kissin' the rails
Waiting for the Reaper to fall
Fog or foes. Eating my lies. Slumbered convict they say
A bastard. A coward. Beast in silk shoes on this day
My unnamed steps I keep. Starvation I reap. I sit.
Counting my hell's
Waiting for the Reaper to call
'Ol Rooster in Dayton. "Dog Man" in Houston. We cried
Nails in our beds. Wine in our heads. A breath away is all
Worn feet. Eatin' their sleet. I vomit a religious repast
Lovers I passed. Boxcars at last. I sit.
Hoping for the Reaper this fall.
Youthful wings. "Her" infant songs we sing - and for what?
Elder's my age. Old moving cage. A crumb for meals is all
Gophers stare. Daughters can't care. And "bulls" a way to the stairs
Muted weeping. My beaten soul's-a seeping. I just sit
Reaching for the Reaper's one claw
Chicago. Denver. "Handlin'" my trash. Seeking her long, filthy sash
She left with my dreams. In carpet bag so sweet
A throat so frozen I bent
The organ's-a playin'. "Hound Dog's"-a prayin' And we sit
Fadin' with Reaper is all
White faces look stern. No angels can learn. What "we" died one day
No hand clap. Faded show map. A cigarette given in vain
A banker's coat worn. Our locks ne'er shorn. We're there
Where Reaper's not born.
Our trains still run. The ditches, our sun, was so dim
Hopin' for life. Glutton for strife. One tear will never befall
We're just the roamers. Sad-song strummers. Old hat, no name at all
"We're" over. Now lower. Silently singing
Knowing the Reaper is gone.
* "Bulls" were railroad cops hired by the powerful railroad companies to ride their trains and seek-out the hobos and throw them off the train.
MODERN-DAY HOBOS . . .
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