Hobos Poem by Tony Noon

Somewhere on your dusty road
you crossed over;
left Woodstock for The Twilight Zone
to roll up and smoke into our late
summer like broken wind.

No love and peace, no names.
No pack drill from our corner.
Uptight under canvas we were
upright enough to chill your
cider with polite refusals.

We blew you out and when
you had been given
the bums' rush by the commissars
you picked up your blanket
and your old dog and hit
the highway back into history.

Sometime after dark and over
appropriate bar tables
we talked you onto beaches
or laughed you under hedgerows
and I breathed easier
because no one knew
I used to sing the same songs.



Tony Noon