Homer Free

blue guitarist3

HOMER FREE

Holiday inns and ways
to escape
the core of my being
the life in my days.

There’s dialogue with others.
There’s hope midst despair.
There’s love in my living
Not getting stuck in repair.

So, I’m singing my song
Painting my poem
There’s love in my living
when I am being home.

Walking across the brilliant white hot pavement in one side of Big Spring park behind my house, I happened upon this homeless guy who I’ve seen all over downtown Huntsville. I’ll call him Homer, though I’ve been reluctant to engage him in conversation and don’t know his name

He carries all of his goods in a kind of basket and shows up rolling it, walking or sitting on a park bench around town. I think he might be a vet who hasn’t recovered from PTSD because I saw him often at the VA clinic when it was downtown; they never kicked him out and he never caused trouble, though he sometimes talked to himself inaudibly.

This morning he was throwing something white on the ground near the park bench, and I thought, “He’s littering the park with waste”. When I got next to him, however, he was drying his wet socks on the hot pavement in the sun.

God Bless you Homer in your freedom to be and on your arduous journey.