Man On the Corner

"Man On the Corner" Timing his loitering for the lunch time bustle He picks up his tempo to mere acquiescence Passing by without condescension or anything at all Hooligans steal an earful on the way to their busy lives With calloused fingertips working aural interest His style plays for lifeless pennies and coins Dropping dead into his guitar case from cold business-like hands A state of being not far off for him if he doesn't collect soon Minimum wage seem unfair for a man of such skill Yet refreshing for the reality of what he's accrued Ironically desperate for attention in a city of so many Sharing his unintentional benevolence on others ears The dirt on his face with a beard in its place A hard life for the dreamer fighting for his due He plays to assuage the very angst that builds up By going so completely unappreciated People don't bother with him for the most part Putting the guitarist in a world all his own Of intangible spirits walking away in skirts and suits They are all to ignorant of his existence So he spreads himself out like jelly On a toast of tarmac at the end of the day Fatigued for not being famous Barely having enough money to eat dinner He goes inside the very restaurant he had The privilege of playing in front of To use the bathroom and shave his beard A once a week renewal of the musician Buying a full course meal with soup and salad Gaining confidence, fat and muscle He is able to take over for Atlas with a single meal And goes back outside knowing the evening rush has yet to hear him play Not done yet.