The Performer

I arrived at the garden of peace, Typical day...mundane routine. He arrives with a drink in hand Laying his guitar case down on the curb. He takes the guitar out slowly, And begins strumming it...into tune. He leaves the guitar case open, And asks a passerby for any requests. The passerby says, “No, thank you.” He suddenly begins to play Jimi’s ‘Hey Joe’ The passerby pauses...slowly turning around, Walking back to listen to him play. I see the performer clutching the guitars neck, As if Jimi...was the one performing. The passerby astonished...began to cry, I thought he enjoyed the song for what it was. The song ended with a good finale, The passerby dropped his change in the case. I couldn’t help but to hear him ask, How he knew what to play. The performer said that it was his job, To study his clients real well. The passerby responded, “today’s my sons Death anniversary and he loved Jimi to death. I went through his closet this morning, And grabbed one of his many shirts.” The passerby slowly turned to walk away, And unbeknownst to him...I saw his tears. The performer accomplished what he came to do, And like him...without asking a question, I too...observed the faded...Jimi Hindrix, Printed in psychedelic colors on the passerby's shirt.