A Drunken Hobo

A drunken hobo's fall from grace
How did he ever get to this dreadful place?
What was he like with his other face?
When did he realize he lost the race?

Suckin on a bottle , hopin his mind can erase
The dreadful journey to this God awful place.
"Move it along now", says the cop. "You're takin up too much space!"
Searchin for family . Not even a trace.

A drunken hobo's fall from grace.
Guy in a suit yells "Get a job"!
Work like the rest of us, ya drunken slob"!
This whole new world seems like an angry mob.

He whispers softly " I'm not a slob. My friends called me Bob"
All alone to ponder. Beg, Steal, or Rob?
Ladies walk by, clutching their mace.
A drunken hobo's fall from grace.
Standin out front of a convenience store

Beggin for dimes , needin just one more.
All because of some lousy war.
That not too many people particularly cared for.
Hobblin around. Such a chore.

Only one leg, but who's keepin score?
Clutching tightly his medal of valor .
Which he received in some God forsaken war.
A war which noone  particularly cared for.

Once a hero. He's now not so sure.
It's not a topic he likes to explore.
He has enough now.  For a 6 pack, 12 , maybe a case
Not much else these days helps him erase

A haunting memory of a relentless chase.
A drunken hobo's fall from grace.
A hero forgotten without a trace.
All he remembers is a battlefield in some far away place

And tortured images of a soldiers bloody face
As he sucks down the last of his case.
Water from a dirty puddle gets splashed in his face.
A drunken hero's fall from grace

Ron Ryan
March 29, 2003