Don't Know Why. *

walking the streets alone
no one to talk to now
one hand full of memories and the other a fifth
you say your name is bob
a genius
a painter
ill sit and talk with you for a while
you say you're sick
need to get better but the doctor hooked you up
regret the things you forgot but rock and roll won't
who am I to decide if you're alright?
don't ask again
feel their stare
they've seen you around
you know their counterfeit smiles you're no dummy
I'm not a bullshit artist!
you're not doing so bad
you say you don't do dope
had a good time but its time to go
you said your name is bob
you're a junkie

*Originally Posted on May 21st, 2006.
At the time I was working with 102.3 WBAB in the promotions department. On our event that day a homeless guy/junkie came over to our tent and stayed with us the entire 3-hour event. He talked with us and told us his life story. He was getting up the courage to ask for a ride or some money. I think he enjoyed talking with us but being a junkie what he really needed was a lift somewhere and some dollars. I went home and I wrote this poem about him.

This past weekend in Atlantic City, 7 years later on the boardwalk that same homeless guy Bob comes up to us asking for some money. I gave him what change I had which wasn't much, he was still telling his painting story. He said he was an artist and/or a great house painter. Lost it all because of drugs and alcohol.