Bobby B.

We got out of the car

Heard an angry voice not too far.

He was screaming terrible things,

As if he had no heart for feelings.

I looked at my brother

and started to walk farther.

“Go check on him,” I begged.

“Come with me,” he said.

We charged across the parking lot,

And I did what I was taught.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

He looked at us as cars passed,

“He was mad and took it out on me.

I was trying to make him smile, you see?”

He held up his sign and we laughed.

Oh, it was such a craft.

It read “Pregnant homeless guy Still happy Need job”

It made us all smile and my heart throbbed.

He shook our hands like an educated man.

I instantly became his fan.

He said, “You guys are so cool.”

Except I felt no more than like a fool.

I should have done more,

I was the one who was feeling poor.

He was so happy.

For a homeless guy, he wasn’t crappy.

He just got a job at Gates.

He said he’d hook us up with some plates.

He felt like he owed us something,

But It was me who owed him everything.

i felt thankful and blessed.

Calm and no longer stressed.

Last night was a great night.

I met Bobby B. under a stop light.


They’re supposed to be sweet, mellow, nice, and soft sounding. Most of all, dreams should be comforting.

Mine aren’t.

Not with real Dad in them.

Each dream I dream about him I begin to l o s e a bit of myself. But at the same time, I gain something new.

I don’t want to dream about him any longer.

Is that bad? Does that make me a bad person?

I’m afraid of falling asleep because, well,

I’m afraid of








I dream about my dad because I long for the day when I can actually see him. But my pride tears everything a  p  a r   t. I know I’m stronger than I tell myself I am.

I shall stop thinking I need him in my life, because I know well, I don’t.