He played on a metal power pole
next to the bus stop.
Using two sticks once fallen from some loving tree,
he beat out a rhythm long buried in his heart.
music saturated the air
breathed in by passersby.
The uptown #6 slowed,
then sped along.
The player’s finale reverberated,
flowed away in the breeze.
No one stopped to validate his art,
or to hear his pithy epilogue.
He walked away addressing no one,
Now that’s the way to dance and
it’s the ONLY dance there is.
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