The Bum

His name is Andrew Jackson
And he never planned on becoming a bum
Or a junkie either
It just sorta happened
Sometime after the war
Yeah, they taught him 2 kill in Vietnam
But, back here in the world son
Killing is wrong
Then what the fuck am I supposed 2 do
Do U know what they turned me N2
The things I've seen
The things I still see when I dream

A lonely park bench will be his bed 4 the night
But the cops'll be along 2 roust him
Long B4 daylight comes back around
Bringing with it yet another day

He stands on the corner
With a hand lettered sign
Sure, there may be jobs out there
But he's way past his prime
Accepting pity
Will work 4 food
Do U have any money?
Does it do any good?

He sits on the corner
Cold wind blowing
Through his beard
Hoping he can make it
Just one more day
Praying the end is near

He sits on the corner
Cold wind blowing through his hair
Does anyone really care?

© 2007 by R. Jones


This is a slightly different version than U may have heard or have seen previously. The prior version wuz Published by the International Poetry Society in 2004. When I read the original on stage in 1995 Celebrated Bay Area poet Max Schwartz approached me afterward and remarked, "U have some important, important stuff 2 say." A wonderful compliment that I am proud of 2 this day. Tell me what U think of The Bum...leave a comment!