Tonight's Poet Corner: The Hobo with a Bad Haircut

The Hobo with a Bad Haircut
by Belinda Roddie

The hobo had a haircut
that looked like it came from Hell,
like bats gnawed away at nests of blonde
and fat-eyed vultures tore at luscious
locks with vicious talons. He kept one eye

open all the time as he slept-walked
through every nonsense town,
mumbling every nonsense word that
oozed from the clogged canal of his
left ear. And

only
his left.

Do tell, hobo, why
do you not use your pair of rusted
scissors in your cargo pants pocket?
Or the shearing knife in your three-
handkerchief bag?
He would not tell me shit. He
dragged his feet behind him and left
tire tracks in the mud.
Bobbing along the road like a half-dead
pick-up truck, belching

dust,
and

leaving the lice in his half-eaten coif
to live out the rest of their
beautiful lives.