Vagabond
Poem
Dirty bandanna and sweat in my eyes
got rags on my fingers to fend off the flies
Riddle me this and I’ll tell you I’ve seen
cups overflowing and empty canteens
Eyes full of sorrow while hands full of gold
yesterday’s ticket it cannot be sold
No obligations no rules to abide
the world is your oyster with no compromise
Flat on my back in the old country road
got three silver dollars no shoes on my toes
the carriages pass and throw dust in the air
leaving the coughing alone in despair
The sun overhead well it’s cooking us dry
my slacks nearly melting right into my thigh
Ne’er my life I’ve committed a crime
still vultures above are just biding their time
Where do I run to my friend
I’ve got wounds the time can’t mend
I kept my head up where others would bend
I’m a vagabond till the end
When I was young and my smile was fine
And those I encountered would greet me in kind
I used to bring faces to smiles of joy
and now I’m the face that they try to avoid
Hidden ‘neath wrinkles of sun weathered skin
are fragments of truth amongst mountains of sin
Little remained when I pushed it away
A fistful of dollars a lifetime of pain
Where do I run to my friend
I’ve got wounds the time can’t mend
I kept my head up where others would bend
I’m a vagabond till the end
Where do I run to my friend
I’ve got wounds the time can’t mend
I kept my head up where others would bend
I’m a vagabond till the end
more by BEN COOKE
photograph by Josh Felise
