Friday, August 20, 2010


(Wade concertina, 1886)

The old man
Pushes buttons
To play music.
Tourists passing
Donate to his hat, while
He sits
To the elements.
The songs are
Traditional, so old
That no one knows
Their authors
Anymore, telling stories
Of a life no one alive
Remembers. His low voice
Cracks like paint.

Passersby usually assume
That he’s gone blind,
But he just keeps his lids
Closed tight, so he can look
Farther than the eye can see.

-- © 2010 by Jack Veasey

(All rights reserved. This work may not be reproduced or duplicated in any form without the author's written permission. )

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