The Old Mexican

He stood at the corner many days Selling flowers sun or rain He was an old Mexican and he plays The harmonica for his pain. One day there was a chase, two cars Down Boston Road came. The stars That guide his destiny in their wars Left no choice to him. His blood mars Pelham curb still. But, O, the police Said, it was only for law and order They chased the other like a beast Since he ran a traffic light. I shudder Though, to see flowers again. They are not the harmonica anymore for pain.