in the piazza square

among the bustling streets

where industry and avenues meet

where the homely or happy greet

anxious merchants

hangs a sound above the noise

wailing in the top ground

like a rhythm blues booze hound

calling for the freedom he’s never known

He sings of love lost

and a few dollars are pried from strangers passing by

alerted by his cries

He sings

of oceans swelling and dreams so loudly

it carries over the now whispering crowds

until it resonates through his sneakers and into the concrete

a conduit for his melodic screams

He continues to sing as if music were the only thing

keeping his heart from bursting

or the Earth rotating

What kind of fool do you take me for he says

and I need you he says

until his street chalice runneth over with imparted gold nuggets

and then black boy packed up his carryings

abandoning us in his blues

while we bid him sing