He sings for his supper
Sometimes settling for the scraps
From table number twenty-nine
It is enough to sustain him tonight
She does not mind his presence
And her patrons seem to take
Delight in his rendering of the blues
Truth be told, it settles her nerves
The line between charity
And curiosity blurs as she
Studies his post-performance feast
His manners are impeccable
A genial exchange of pleasantries
And a reverent nod precede his
Departure into the back alley
Secretly she wonders where he will go
Pain ebbs up through his heel as
He makes his way to the shelter
Five blocks east in the biting November wind
Maybe his shoes will endure another week
Forgetting to dim the dining room lights
She eases her coupe into first gear
Before her thoughts can align with reason
The traffic signal has never been slower
At the intersection of Benton and 8th
She recognizes his oversized burgundy coat
And a soulful verse from tonight’s recital
The name of the tune eludes her
His gaze is as uncertain
As her steps are unsteady
It is a chance they both accept
Words are humbled by fascination
