Upon The Death Of A Hobo

Photo: DonMcCullin Guardian Photo of A Homeless Man in London, 1960

There stood the great sir

the prince of the open spaces

with eyes green and illuminated

as if his pupils were falling into supernova

with a bag to his name

a bag containing only a sleeping bag

and a bottle of white lightning

sharp jolts always ease the pain.

I never knew his story

never heard his tale

never did I think to ask for his plot

in his own black comedy

of existence.

All we did know

the boys

the girls

the men

and the women

was that he was alone

an introvert

in a extroverted world

a lone sailor

in a cold velvet sea.

He never cared about his clothes

he was always coved in dirt

and part of me felt guilty

when I passed him draped in furs

as if he was a pauper and I Aphrodite.

Stinking of piss

and alcoholism

and heroin

and I in myrrh

and soap

and privilege.

Whenever he spoke

which was rare

you could hear the musk

eastern accent

a Lithuanian Duke

a Polish Knight

a Ukrainian Baron

(we never knew)

and yet here he was

destitute

cold

sick

sad.

On the last time

that I saw him

he looked at me

with those green eyes

those big

green

eyes

and said

“if I am remembered

for a tramp

then it would be a honourable title

to my past...”

He now lays

in an unmarked graved

the only recognition

is graffiti

where he stood

“Upon The Death Of A Hobo”

the prince of the open spaces

with the pupils of the supernova

and the alcohol

and the sent of piss.

I type this now

on my computer

a symbol of the safer life

I live

something

he never had

when we knew him

and think of him

and wonder

whether he will be known

the great sir

the eastern prince

with the green white dwarf eyes

the tramp

the destitute

the poster-boy of the underclass

the alcoholic

the junkie

with the bag

with the needles

with the white lightning

with the sleeping bag

with the smell of piss

and the last words

he spoke

those words

of remembrance

and regret

and sorrow

Reviews

[Lily Mae]

You have blown my mind with this. So raw and true. This one sinks in deeper with each line. I can see his face..feel the emotion and somehow there is a knowing that occurs inside my own heart. Beautifully written... Remembrance, regret and sorrow...powerful stuff...xo

[W. Birgand-Camps]

Thank you very much. I wanted it to be true because I've read many a poem which almost romanticizes Homelessness and I just wanted to emphasis that it was not true. I'm glad it had an effect on you.

[Lily Mae]

We just lost a homeless man here in our town. I was comforted when a group pulled together and bought him a place but he still felt at home outdoors. The cold took his life. We will never know the reasons for some but your write said so much.. Thank you..xo

[W. Birgand-Camps]

That's incredibly sad, but the fact that your community did that is truly wonderful.