During the Day I'M Proud But At Night I'M Not Allowed

Edit EIGHTH AT EIGHT While walking when the southern wind changes in my direction and become nor-easters such as a festering infection I have not a choice but to go where my worn out shoes will take me Until I reach far enough south for the sun to bake me so people inquire why I don't drive a car and i tell them were i to own one I'd drive after leaving a bar Panama Pete, the barkeep, knows straight vodka is all i ever drink and he knows how many I need to no longer think since drinking at eight A.M. only gets me in trouble with ladies or the law and please don't think that alcohol is my only flaw so I leave old Pete with his Panama hat well worn until, more often than not, I awake on some stranger's lawn how I got there and why I am indifferent to and take my word for it I am different from you you probably have loved ones who would care if you die I, however, could expire and not a soul on earth would cry no moans, no groans and no tears would be shed for only Panama Pete will miss me when I'm dead other people I’ve cheated will care not because they despise me and no tuxedo, three piece suit nor pin-stripes can disguise me i am what i am because of a detrimental mind and people can discern what i am even if they're blind So I arise from a stranger's lawn and keep on the run while walking and vying with the wind or the sun I am a walking and talking riddle and/or pun and will be so until this farce of my life is deliberately done (c) 2010......Poefree (Panama Pete is actually his name and owns or owned a seedy bar on eighth avenue and 46th Street in Manhattan. i haven't seen him in eleven years but if he’s still among the living I’m giving ten to one odds that say, were i to walk in his establishment right now he'd pour me four and one on the house)