(About a fiction character of mine, that I jotted down while my mother was inside Ace hardware and I was burning up in the car.)
In that little corner of his
He sits
Watches the world walk by
As he plays his un-tuned harmonica
For unlistening ears
Closes each finger gently
Around the silver answers
To the questions he is forced to ask
"Will they hear me?"
He wonders silently...
No eyes watch, no ears hear
"Am I alive?"
A summer tune on a scratched harmonica
Proves too deep an
Answer for a young man's
Soul
~Joy~ |
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