There are certain buskers that I see
my favorite is the one guy that sings smoothly
like he is crooning to a lover
snapping gently in time
while he sings classics like “My Girl” with such brevity of ego
that the spirit lifts
just to hear him whisked away into his own world as we watch
against the passing trains
My second favorite I see late at night
often in strange places
I hear the shuffle and I know it’s him
He has a plastic bottle attached to his foot
and impressively, a hammer for support
and every inch of him is rhythm
there is no stone unturned
I think it might even be gravel in his boot
My third favorite is the guy against the building
singing plaintively in a blanket
I know he’s homeless but he seems ok.
I stand by and listen. He doesn’t care if he has an audience.
He is singing for his soul, for the homeland
somewhere deep inside of him.