Oh No a Hobo

She is a hobo, they said, shrinking back in horror. Maybe it’s my mismatched clothes, my moldy socks. The fact that I no longer bathe or brush my teeth. I am delighted by their eagerness to flee This is what I had always wanted But never had. No one ran toward me to tell their life story No one rushed over to become my friend No one asked me to help them do anything. I cannot pinpoint why, but they are horrified. I am grinning widely, so they can see the spinach Sticking out of my happy teeth.