local vagabond
on the move
saw him
bike trailer in tow
moving
guitar and bags
and all
his quiet secrets stashed
along refundable bottles
and cigarette butts.
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About Me
- Dale Hunt
- He's become comfortable in that ol' civil war jacket. What would compliment that mess of hair? A sage cigarette, a bottle in his hand and a book in his pocket. A hobo at heart a drunk by night and a rambling pain. Tired and old before his time. Studying the greats Bukowski, Tom Waits William S. Burroughs and Hunter S. Thompson, Kerouac and John Steinbeck. Drinking Brandy and Cockspur rum from the bottle. Hiding down South for the winter months running from the cold and consequence.
1 comment:
have these old black leather boots my old man passed on from when he used to drive truck to and from the fish gut plant, steel toed, kinda turning green now
wear'em to kick shovel and take back empties, teetering in a bent up crimpled line of curious drunks and dark dressed hobos, glass smashing at alarming volumes, territorial hussy fits, the sobering reek of stale alcohol and bent twisted faces smiling back like a terrifying mirror of self recognition
hear them hobo's homing their shopping carts past while I'm digging holes in dirt an clay, dumping rats in liquor store plastic bags, fishing for tall cans in frost ruined rhubarb
no dump here near enough to make a trade for those ole boots you got on offer
finally just changed my own knotty laces
you know what it's like when you cinch yourself up tight
take a sip and in a blip consider all the threads of your wing nut existence hanging upon the frayed ends of your broken ass laces
F
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