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.