Roger Singer

 

 

 

 

 

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.