Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Hobo Days

Daddy cut the charcoal
And rubbed it on my face.
I tied the jeans with a piece of cord
From the an old curtain rod.

My fingers got blackened
All on their own,
When I crumpled newspaper for my old bandana.
A stick, a stick. I needed a stick.

It was one of those cold October
Nights. Dad's old blazer
Hung well past my knees. In the pocket
A business card for Lujack's Automotive.

In hobo days, before I knew things,
Before my dog died, before I owned
Anything. In hobo days, I kept a box
In my drawer. For treasuers, like buttons and notes.

Cold, clear night. Flashlights and loot.
I walked with my sister, my friends. The doors were
Opened, to hobos and spooks,
And princesses wearing cardigans.

Hobo days, charcoal face, bandana on stick.
Paper Frankenstein taped to the wall.
Hobo days, candle glow inside of a gourd,
Harvesting the warm moments of fall.

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