Tired, Hungry, Worn, and Beat
Open, Empty case at curb; His tired, burning feet
Alas the music stops, and so does the clink of change
Crush and Push of commuters,
Adjust to sudden extra space
Widened stretch of concrete,
As pedestrians re-arrange
The musician closes up for the day,
Begins to Move away,
Slowly from his pearch
Blending downstream with the crowd,
Silence rings,
Where all day, he played
Against the backdrop of the loud city noises
Honk of horn, Siren blaring, People staring,
Pointing, Laughing, All gone MAD...
It's NOT his circumstances,
Or the weather, or even music..BAD
It's the COLD and CRASS posture
of those quickly RUSHING by...
That makes this simple man,
Oh...SO VERY SAD!
99© G.Gordon
