by James McDuffie
02/07/10
Oh, how I remember Bobby McGee,
What a strange, puzzling man was he.
He’d wait all night by the old brick wall,
Expecting a ghostly, phantom voice to call.
Away from the street in the crisp winter air,
Exposed to the elements in a manner unfair.
The old payphone hadn’t worked in years,
A fact we kept back to avoid his tears.
We’d beckon him to join us in the pub,
But he’d just reply a reason for his snub:
“She’s coming tonight so I better be ready,
Its been so long since I have seen my Betty.”
As we straggled home and daylight came,
We’d hear his loudly shouted refrain:
“Oh what bad luck the fates bring,
Another night without nearly a ring.”