In a recent stay in Denver, Colorado, I was appalled at a two block soup line. My motivation for this poem was an old man and a dog……the man was barely scooting along. He had a golfer’s hat, a long, winter coat, a beard, newspaper and shoulder bag. It was 95 degrees.
A companion stood by the old man’s right side; a little to the rear….his stance as of a guardian….or maybe….a messenger.
Hobo and the Dog
“I thought I knew what I would do
if ever she came my way,”
the old man said as he patted ‘Over-due,’
standing…. talking seriously to the stray.
The city street was busy now
and they knew they had to move
and find a place to settle down
that fit within their groove.
The routine was their daily chore,
a challenge every day
to find a spot of warmth and more
not in others’ way.
But the arriving fall brings with it, cold;
thus, the city ‘walks’ they need
where the sun has stored a day of heat;
where the pigeons overfeed.
There was a time when life was good
and he had a place to sleep
in a place where he was understood
and friends and love ran deep.
But the years had taken all away
and his visions soon withdrew
and left him sleeping in the street, like the stray,
he had named ‘Over-due.’
“Over-due, it’s time we hit the sack.”
he said as he made his bed,
putting his pillow over a sidewalk crack;
motioning to the dog to play ‘dead.’
“What do you say if in the morning we rise,
leave this gutter life and go farther west?
Yeah, that sounds like a good plan, to me….”
stretching out against the dog….at last eternal rest.
© copyright 2013 t. j. gargano