the busker - for Daveed

[jeanvieve]

the busker's on his corner again
through snow and sunlight, wind and rain
toes tapping, bobbing head
sending out his merry thread

children stop and tug at hands
wise fools, heirs apparent
dreaming dreams become transparent
little dancers, little fans

bricks hum and sidewalks stutter
with the snatches that he mutters
singsong blues and smoky rhymes
troubled feelings, troubled times

coins clinking in the hat
thank ya ma'am, and how's that?
sure I'll play it, it's my fave
they'll mark it down upon my grave

he sings his own when no one's there
the ones he wrote for golden hair
or dark or red, in summer's light
songs of love, songs of flight

fingers aching, eyesight blurring
years have passed, that same old coat
that same old kind of scratchy throat
only traffic changes, whirring by

the busker left his corner today
or never came, or cannot stay
the pigeons lost for their next meal
no notes to play, no time to steal