THE SINGING

 I was walking home down a hill near our house 
 on a balmy afternoon
under the blossoms
Of the pear trees that go flamboyantly mad here 
 every spring with
their burgeoning forth

When a young man turned in from a corner singing 
 no it was more of
a cadenced shouting
Most of which I couldn't catch I thought because 
 the young man was
black speaking black

It didn't matter I could tell he was making his 
 song up which pleased 
me he was nice-looking
Husky dressed in some style of big pants obviously 
 full of himself
hence his lyrical flowing over

We went along in the same direction then he noticed 
 me there almost
beside him and "Big"
He shouted-sang "Big" and I thought how droll 
 to have my height
incorporated in his song

So I smiled but the face of the young man showed nothing 
 he looked
in fact pointedly away
And his song changed "I'm not a nice person"
 he chanted "I'm not
I'm not a nice person"

No menace was meant I gathered no particular threat
 but he did want
to be certain I knew
That if my smile implied I conceived of anything like concord
between us I should forget it

That's all nothing else happened his song became 
 indecipherable to
me again he arrived
Where he was going a house where a girl in braids 
 waited for him on
the porch that was all

No one saw no one heard all the unasked and 
 unanswered questions
were left where they were
It occurred to me to sing back "I'm not a nice 
 person either" but I
couldn't come up with a tune

Besides I wouldn't have meant it nor he have believed 
 it both of us
knew just where we were
In the duet we composed the equation we made 
 the conventions to
which we were condemned

Sometimes it feels even when no one is there that 
 someone something
is watching and listening
Someone to rectify redo remake this time again though 
 no one saw nor
heard no one was there

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