I met a man once,
in a subway station that reeked
of urine and impatience.
I evaded his eyes
because that's what you do
to a poor man singing
for his life's bread.
He sang to me,
to all of us who waited
and ignored him.
And he smiled,
lifted his head high
and snapped his fingers.
His hat, holding a few coins,
sat at his feet.
He sang
lean on me, when you're not strong
and I wasn't feeling very strong.
I had left my old man
at the bus station
and now headed home
to my own silent company.
Everything stopped
everyone listened
no train came
no one moved
no one spoke
the man's voice echoed
along concrete walls
off grafittied billboards
through the wormholes.
I leaned against the pillar
and I felt strong again.
And then the song was over.
The man went on to other songs,
the people went on to wait impatiently
and I went home alone.
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