Hobo
Why do you want me
To shoulder your bags?
That are made of filthy rags
Yet this seems to make
You quite glad
Can’t transport your own stuff
Enough is enough
You are a vagrant incarcerate
But the only thing you can
Say is “I’m so sorry”
For what congesting decades
Of my life, even you realize
Nothing about our history
Has turn out to be genuine
A wanderer of a forgotten era
Keeping in touch
Only to give me a rush
Of the paraphernalia you can’t let go
You are a hobo
That does not comprehend
The meaning of “hell no”
Copyright © Amber Moultry-Harrison | Year Posted 2021
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