Hobo Handbook: Memoirs of a Homeless Poet in New York (Excerpt #28)

THE HOBO HANDBOOK: MEMOIRS OF A HOMELESS POET IN NEW YORK

 By Daniel Canada c.2010  

CHAPTER THREE

PERSONALITIES OF THE HOMELESS (Continued)

SWINGS AT THE FENCES is a gentleman. What else can I say? But he has a peculiar predilection for swinging punches in the air out in public, at an unseen adversary. So, to us unfortunate souls, who are not privy to the goings on of the spirit world, he's "swinging at the fences."

Notwithstanding the fact that he's a Vietnam Vet, who has gone through hell in the service of his country, "Swings at the Fences" is a few French fries shy of a Happy Meal. He probably came home from war as damaged goods.

 

Other than that, “Swings at the Fences” is relatively harmless and when he's not wishing to be confined on the thirteenth floor of the VA Hospital, in a one-size-fits-all jacket, you will see him milling around on the streets talking to his invisible battle buddies. But when he's not visiting the local VA and taking his meds, once more he's back into the fray, swinging away at the air. 

So, if you have mental issues and find yourself homeless, make sure you get yourself squared-away with a good medication management. If your insurance policy ran out or dropped you, you can apply for Public Assistance which will provide you with Medicare or Medicaid, if you qualify. That way you can keep your prescriptions current.  

Otherwise, there's the real possibility you might wind up…swinging at the fences too. 

FREAKS COME OUT AT NIGHT Way back in the days, there was a Rap group called "Whodini," who came out with a hit song, "The Freaks Come out at Night."

Remember that?

Well, I’m probably just succeeded in dating myself. Anyway, guess what? In my travels in the world of the disenfranchised I ran across-actually I use to sleep around him in the former "Hotel"-a Rastafarian dude, who liked to get his drink on. Being that he hailed from the Island of Jamaica, he also liked to "blaze a tree," if you’ll pardon my parlance. For those of you who are not familiar with the jargon, that is smoke a joint of marijuana. 

 

This combination of "get-high" would elevate the poor chap to Biblical proportions. And once he got there, he liked to perch himself upon a folding chair, right in the foyer outside the New York Public Library, and sing aloud his favorite tune, "The Freaks Come out at Night." This he would do with abandon, unencumbered by any modicum of bashfulness; notwithstanding the fact that he could've used a few singing lessons along the way.

Having said this much, there's not much more to say about "Freaks Come Out," other than it would probably be a good idea to get a job, that way he could support his weed habit and the beckoning urge to feed his head. 

Ok, so let me sum this up. If you're homeless and know how to scare up enough money to buy your own "get-high," it's not too far of a stretch of the imagination that you can probably scrap up enough cash to eventually GET THE FUCK OF THE STREETS!

Or maybe I'm just barnstorming.

Nah.

(To be continued...)