Harmonica
in hand, fedora tipped,
he
sits
on the
curb
at
Pike Place,
a
glass at his side.
I
don't question
what's
in it,
I
don't judge.
He
lifts metal to mouth,
we
tune out, but--
like
the President
in a
State of the Union Address
after
tragedy to the nation,
the
street
becomes
his,
all
ears
to the
tomcat
wailing,
and we
come,
we
come.
©
2015 Jennifer Wagner
For
dVerse MTB: Connecting the Dots.