The Busker

There’s a man

at our local shops

who orbits erratically around his hat

singing in a husky mutter,

hunched over his tight, protruding belly

his words foreign

and incomprehensible.

In their orthopedic sandals

and thick white socks,

his feet – like his eyes –

barely leave the ground.

Some days he seems bereft,

his hoarse voice weary

but other days I read him differently

and wonder if the past is here –

a lifetime of romance embedded in a pavement crack;

an old dispute wisping by on a chewing gum wrapper

a beautiful scene painted over the drab

shopping centre garden bed.

Perhaps his emotions are fleeting

as the clink of a few coins in his hat.

I walk past always intrigued

and for some reason slightly awed

and think up stories for him

in the grocery aisles.

3 thoughts on “The Busker

  1. Buskers are one of my favourite topics so I was immediately drawn to this. I love the description of him. Somehow I can hear a Tom Waits-like voice coming from this man. And yes, this is how creativity works: inventing stories for people who fascinate us but who we know little about

    Liked by 1 person

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