Hobo Stew

Abandoned chunks of spuds
Hunched around the flames
Sloshing a disparaging roux
Fatal outcast faces
Rasping groans
Sobbing, mournful tongues
Shivering universally
Lower than plain folks bracing again for a black uneasy
Suspecting in fear, expecting no morning
A slurred prayer muttered
Consoling a nightmare
Beyond heaven’s hand
This distant shore, this darkest sea
This devil’s domain
Cold cracked hands scrape the caldron
Scarred flesh, a life in dread
A wooden ladle clangs the kettle
A slurp signals the final toll
Cups outstretched, ungracious desperation
A watery solitary offering
With many mad takers
Wondering what their minds will do
A wooden ladle clangs the kettle
Time to serve the Hobo Stew

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