I move about
in seasons I call my own
knowing people, the names I sometimes
forget, but not the back doors where
diners are served.
dogs like me, following my steps
knowing something about me, liking
the traveling I do.
Kids think I’m funny, cause I never grew up,
and cops find me suspicious.
I got a home somewhere behind me
a lot of years and undelivered letters
I pen my own thoughts now.
I get a job then lose it.
Blending in aint so easy, at least not for me.
My empty pockets warm my hands,
since absent of cash
making plenty of room for things tossed along the way
crazy stuff from cars and buses
I carefully inspect, holding near their value
To sell or trade for food.
I know I’m not the same as folks I pass
But I’m ok not being ok
It’s just that part of me.