Hobo Jungle

[Dr. John]

Pete,

That's hilarious!

[Tramp]

"Peter, the singin was mighty okay, but I really loved your geetar playin."

[Daisy]

Cool Pete, I'm in a song! And a WAY nicer one than the last one I was in.

Tramp, I loved reading that excerpt from your novel here. The atmosphere on the tracks, and those two out there together like that was very touching.

[woodsytc]

hay, i heared that geetar down bah tha creek, sounds reel good. i'm tom, but my friends call me woodsy. anyways, i foun' these ol' strangs in 'at ol' broke down shack neah that ol'... whaddya call 'er... that place whare they boil that faar water. anyhow i was carryin' 'em aroun' an ah aint got no use for 'em. maybe they're a bit less rusty then them you got an i see yer missing that one in the middle anyhows...

[P&R Pete]

Daisy, if I knew you better, I might have gotten a little braver.
But with all due respect. I sure don't want to aggravate a Lady. (You either, JB)

Thank you kindly, Woodsy! Let me tighten 'er up here...*twing*..*twing*..*TWANG*, there we got 'er!
Welcome around the fire. More, the merrier. Help yerself to the stew, and throw a stick in while you're there. Where you hail from?
(Had ya got here a day ago, you'd have been immortalized in song! Coulda had me some fun with 'Woodsy'. )

[Daisy]

I love talking to you while butterflies are on my shoulders. There. That's my big poem.

[Tramp]

Daisy, I'd be pleased if even a fire fly landed on my head.

Nice poem.

[Daisy]

I'll send you a luna moth to glow in your eyes

[Tramp]

I'm blind.

[Daisy]

All the better to glowmoth you then you total nUT!

[P&R Pete]

It's Saturday night.
Tramp is most definitely blind.

[Bindle Stiff]

Petey yer a gud poet writer fer shore an' 'ol Tramp's a fine writer uv poems and proze uv all kines. It's humblin' jus' to pal aroun' wif guys lak you two! I don' think I dizarve fren's lak you two fellers. An'then thers ol' San wats a musical an' hysterical geneeus uf great porportions! We'z got Willie an' Jackie whats bof po-etical and smart as 'ell! I mean ta tell you we'z got sum fine ones in this here camp. Guess we can't ferget Dufus an' his bar tendical talen's neither!

I rote a ryme thet I wuz gonna' post in the ol' camp but figgered it wuz lak poorin'parfume on a pig.

Wisdom gained, wisdom lost
Hobos evicted, our jungle is lost.
Our pal Dufus always flees
When talk turns to forum fees.
As bean counter Cinderdick tallies the cost
Our precious history is blithely tossed.
Pay'um or shun them as you please
Ain't got no love for forum fees.
We have one less bridge that can be crossed
And a few less peasants to be bossed.
Ain't no cure for this disease
Pay up now or they'll takeyour keys!

Stiff

[Daisy]

See, Tramp, I'm blind too (um, or maybe you can't).

[San Diegan]

Thanks for the mention in your poem, Petey. I have heard of sterno drinkers falling out of third story windows and being saved by a canvas awning.

I am still in the mideast but thinking about home. After this, a good trip through the heartland would be good for the soul. I am dreaming of it.

A hobo rides standing in a hopper with the wind ripping through his hair. He looks north to snow blowing off the Flatirons and south to Denver. He remembers a song from his youth and belts it out...

I'm so glad, I'm so glad
I'm glad, I'm glad, I'm glad
I'm so glad, I'm so glad
I'm glad, I'm glad, I'm glad

I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do
I'm tired of weeping, I'm tired of moaning, I'm tired of crying for you

I'm so glad, I'm so glad
I'm glad, I'm glad, I'm glad
I'm so glad, I'm so glad
I'm glad, I'm glad, I'm glad

I'm tired of weeping, I'm tired of moaning, I'm tired of groaning for you
I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do, I don't know what to do

I'm so glad, I'm so glad
I'm glad, I'm glad, I'm glad
I'm so glad, I'm so glad
I'm glad, I'm glad, I'm glad

Ever dreaming the fire,

San

[Jackie Blue]

San, my daughter says that her first memory is my humming "I'm So Glad" in her ear while holding her on my shoulder when she was just a wee bairn. She says, to this day when she hears it, she wants to burp.

Stiff, you belong with us like beer and nuts. I love the poem! Portrays my sentiments exactly! Let's drink to poets, beer, and jukeboxes with great songs.

Sorry I missed Saturday night at the camp. I took my 80-year old, wheelchair-bound Mom to two games of bingo, bought her red shoes and matching handbag, the manicure, pedicure, shampoo, condition, haircut, style, makeup and two red-draws at the local where my oldest sister is the barkeep. Mom sang along with Loretta Lynn (Don't Come Home A-Drinkin with Loving on Your Mind) and afterward, a 40-something, handsome, young man came over and flirted with her. Today, she's smiling like the Cheshire Cat.