Buddy Bee Anthony


Hawthorne Man - Poem by Buddy Bee Anthony

Such an angry young man
shufflin down my street.
Flat nothin to say
to everyone he meet.
Folks try helping him
get out of the heat.
He wears filthy, torn rags,
with ripped moldy shoe casings
over crust blackened feet.
Toss him some change,
he throw it in the street.
How'd he get to be that way?
Won't somebody please,
put a hit out
on his miseries.
Town folk say
he might be better off dead.
With a bullet to his head.

Got no friends, tellin you no jokes.
Won't let you offer on up your smokes.
Run down,
hustled,
jacked,
took down
beat.
Flattened like a pancake
on crackdown street.
The game is to put on for
you a crazy show.
Who's lovin this baby, I don't know?
What a shame,
you've forgotten my name.
How did things get to be this way?
Won't somebody please,
put a hit out on my miseries.
Town folk say I might be better off dead.
With a bullet to my head.

Buddy Bee Anthony

Topic(s) of this poem: poetry


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Poem Submitted: Monday, April 30, 2012

Poem Edited: Saturday, June 25, 2016


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