Out our way in springtime
by Allan W. Traphagan
Like the wild Geese flying overhead, the bums are leaving the Rescue Mission, flocking and honking along into the downtown business district.
They fight over the best begging corners while the old crack-head women put their hair in pony tails that hang over their ears and paint on cute little dog faces. They dance around and around like drunken poodles in old Army overcoats holding rattling begging cans.
The men ogle the women pedestrians and they, in turn, check back to see if the ravages of drinking has left anything for them to seduce.
The planes, the trains, the buses and cars, like the blood of the city , flow past the bars, where new street bums are in training. They stare out of the dark windows in fear of graduation......into those great narrow concrete canyons, where certain thoughts come alive and whisper to one another, touching upon a mind, a heavy dark fragrance to lather one's soul, smothering desperation, and cleansing loneliness, of a kind, never bleak and one-sided, nor a pseudo-paradise, but well balanced in emotion, teetering and tottering, never touching down, always in perpetual movement
to feed their dreams with drifts of foggy endings
that will never shut the door.