The Hobo

"Hobo , hobo ," one  cheeky boy points a finger 
And  the rest  shout and snigger   
At the  slovenly figure.
 With high decibel shouts they deride 
The man whose thin arms dangle  by his side. 
They start pelting him with stones
" loony, loony," they shout .
One tiny five year old   wonders what this is all about.
And  runs to hide  
With fear,  eyes wide.
In his haste 
He stumbles and trips.
 The boys watch passively,  hands on hips.
Mouths stuffed with soft and fluffy   buns
Crunch, crunch go these gluttons. 
The hobo is in  a shabby coat belted near the waist 
 His body  a pathetic waste. 
He  hitches up his patched trousers  
Which are  branded
And to him were condescendingly  handed
By a man in a chauffer driven car long back.

 He hobbles  towards the fallen boy  
 listless  eyes in cavernous sockets  
And  pulls out his hands from tattered pockets. 
 These two gnarled hands stretch towards  the petrified boy.
He picks him up in his scarecrowish arms
And calms
 Him with a lullaby.
The fluffy clouds in the sky
Break into dance.
In his direction the sun casts an appreciative glance. 

The five year old
 Now feeling bold
 Takes his grimy face in his chubby hands 
And plants one kiss each on his sunken cheeks.

A tattooed boy, cheaply perfumed and expensively gelled , shrieks,
 " He  is a hobo, how  he reeks ," 
Towards the man   pointing  an indignant  finger. 
The others shout and snigger.
But the five year old , in his mouth,  a tiny finger
 Adamantly by his side continues  to linger.
And linger .