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...)
