“No one asks you to throw Mozart out of the window.
Keep Mozart. Cherish him. Keep Moses too, and Buddha
and Lao Tzu and Christ. Keep them in your heart.
But make room for the others, the coming ones, the ones
who are already scratching on the window panes.”
- Henry Miller
Unless, of course, they’re zombies.
Heart pounding, feet racing,
dashing across dark yards house to house,
witches chasing you on the fly, your hobo pants
fall down and you trip in your dad’s clodhoppers and
your precious sack of almighty joy goes spilling into the oily
shadows of the garage, and you bend down on hands
and knees, praying your loot didn’t roll under
the Chevy, feeling the rough driveway
sandpaper your palms as you
grasp for your goods,
pleading with
the gods to
help you
find them,
and coming
up with nothing,
cussing loud and pulling
up your trousers and careening
on to catch up with friends as night
comes on and porch lights turn off.
Scoff not, the hobo will be
back first thing in
the morning.
Warning,
always
wear
suspenders
with hobo pants
and beware of speeding
witches who are
after your
loot.
Fun one Tom!