Singing Stranger

Everyone he had loved or loved him was now long gone. From New York City and down to the south of Rome; From Eastern Europe to Alaska in the city of Nome; For most of his life, from pillow to post, he had roamed. He 'd lived in many places and spaces few had ever known. For long he wandered near and far, forgetting his real home. Perhaps he was looking for love to free him from being alone. With different colored socks and two right shoes; With a purple right glove to break all the rules; With tattoo on his forehead and a ring-pierced nose; With never a fail, he had flowers, and his favorite was rose. With one left gold ear ring, and one right silver ear ring; With knee-out pants and torn shirt, he took the mic to sing'. With a red backward cap, turned inside out, and a red eye-patch to match, he pulled out a cigarette for a few puffs, but could not find a liter or a match. The crowd was aghast that one like him was able to get past the door man. He wasted no time trying to explain, realizing they would never understand. They looked down on him, hoping he wasn't a criminal, threatening danger. He was tired, broke, hungry, homeless, and just a drifting harmless stranger. They looked him over from head to toe, evaluating weight, height, and size. Although he was not, they never considered he might be an angel in disguise. He said, "I am a poor old stranger from Kobacah, and my name is Sitruc. Very hastily, a he-man security guy took the mic and handled him rough. As he was being kicked out, he told them that they just missed a great show, and that he was sorry that they had to settle for a local guy named Joe. As he gathered himself and reset his rose, Sitruc took one last look. He then found a bench and took more notes for his first book. As I awaked from my dream about a vagabond, I felt as if I had run a marathon. 082121PSCtest, Vagabond Dreams, Craig Cornish