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.
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