Vagabond Poets

I was sitting down
Writing
Smoking
Drinking coffee

My life
In the nutshell

Cliff came up
And asked what
I was doing
Curious
About me
And my laptop

I told him
I was writing
It wasn’t enough
He wanted to know

What I was writing
So I showed him

An old man
Who is harmless
With a pleasant smile
He could be
My grandfather

No doubt
He is someone’s
Grandfather

He looked at my book titles
Read a few poems
Scratched
His bald head

“Interesting”

Interesting means
I don’t get it

I didn’t expect him to
Nor anyone really
But then
I don’t do it
For others

It keeps me sane
Just like coffee
Just like cigarettes
Three friends
That keep me grounded

To the insane world
Which I no longer
Understand
Or want to

It’s better to
Observe
Make annotations
And continue on
Until the next poem
Says hello

It’s easier that way

Cliff thought
It might be a good idea
To put my books
On the shelf
For patrons to read

I thought so too
But then
I remembered
I didn’t have any
Nor a place for them
To send me copies

I told him
It would help
If I had an address
They could ship them to

Years of living
The Road
Always moving
Restless curiosity
Even general delivery
Is too stable
For my vanishing act

He looked at me oddly
Then laughed
Slapped my shoulder
And made a comment
About youth

I laughed with him
Lit another smoke
And wrote this poem