Same corner, every day.
Almost violent in his pointing
and waving,
he pushes me toward a
Twenty-nine dollar
manicure
neither
needed
nor
wanted.
Who hired this angry man to
stand on this corner
and direct me to services
unsought?
I'll close this sunroof and
catch Deacon Blues before
they reach him.
This free brother
is tempting me to throw
him
a kiss in exchange
for his mad display.
Green light drives me
and my music away.
Point on, rhythm man.
©Michelle Scofield May 11, 2011 All Rights Reserved
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