Encounter with a bluegrass busker at Norwich Station.
I was humming that bluegrass foxtrot
when I stopped to cast money at you.
Then I saw I knew you. Christ it's you!
my traffic cop arms, my charging mouth,
let-go-papers raining on our feet
I was a breathless lunatic. I have had
to pause and calm this poem right down.
All that stuff! Christ! Head in my hands now.
Affirmation in music. Our single soul. Consimility.
Out of whack and all over the place.
What a waste, and well, what an arse.
No wonder you ran, nonchalant
and took your pure-pitched tenor voice
i forever say stay
present.
i never do.
so if I were gone then
why not you?
James A Bullion
October 2009 - Draft 2
