Bob

I once knew a man named Bob

Who kept going with a low paying job

He probably had no education

But his songs touched any generation.

 

I often stopped when happy and high

Leaving the pub when night was nigh

We’d chat, I’d ask for ‘Proud Mary’.

He never let me down, e’en for a penny nary.

 

He was a singer and lyricist

He gave his songs a little twist

This went on for quite a few years

Till the manager said, “Your retirement nears”.

 

“But surely I’ve done no wrong

Have my grey hairs grown too long?”

“No Bob, you’ve been really great

But this generation say you outta date.”

 

He tried other cafes and bars

“Gone are days of acoustic guitars.”

“You’re crazy. Songs with meaning?”

“The blues, hah! You must be dreaming.”

 

                        Illustration by the author

                     

So Bob lost his small apartment

His only two rooms of sentiment

Forced to sing near clubs on the streets,

He lived on change thrown at his feet.

 

But Bob never stopped to sing and play

His charged voice was heard from far away

He didn’t know which day was which

But still entertained all, the homeless and rich.

 

We left the pub last Saturday night

Spent money on too many a pint

We walked over towards Bob’s chair

Struggling with our jackets in the chilly air.

 

We neared where Bob sang round the clock

But didn’t hear his big voice around the block

A different soul was using his chair

“Bob?” He looked to the sky, “There.”

 

I could’ve done something for him I knew

But he’s in heaven getting his due.

My heart sank and I felt a shiver

Humming “Rolling, rolling, rolling on the river”.