when the sun came up

Sun rays rake the elms

around the garden where

the old houses used to be.

now it's full 

of community beans

and tomatoes.

the Sacramento summer sunrise

promises hot and extra hot

for breakfast, lunch, and dinner,

so Robert and Henry are drinking

green quarts of Rainier Ale

from brown bags at six a.m.

Robert says they've been

off the reservation for years.

that it's hot up here in June

but the nights are cool.

not as bad as Palm Springs.

those summer nights are like an oven.

that's where they spend the winter.

at a big old camp down there

next to the railroad tracks.

it's a real old time hobo jungle

back under the tamarisk trees.

everybody there is like family.

they wanna know if I'd like a swig

I say sure, just to be sociable.

i don't generally start my day with ale,

but I want to hear their stories.

Robert is from clear lake

an' Henry's up from somewhere

in the mountains east of San Diego

they've been going north and south

like geese for years.

mostly it's all about what they like to drink

and the best places to sleep outside

in Sacramento, memories of friends

doing things like jumping off a train

going forty miles an hour and

landing on his feet running.

but he's dead now. fell asleep

one night and never woke up.

they had a big hobo memorial

down in the Coachella Valley.

say that I should come down

next winter. lot of good company

and a lot of good stories

if that's what I'm interested in.

maybe I will, maybe I will.