The Whistler

On the subway, oftentimes Some people stroll through, singing, Hoping folks will pay them For the “joy” that they are bringing. Sometimes writers hawk their wares, Selling self-made books, Sure they’d make some money if We’d only take some looks. Then there are the beggars, Bragging that they’re not out stealing, Thinking this admission makes them Somewhat more appealing. Today, though, I encountered Something that was new to me – A subway rider whistling An annoying melody. He seemed to whistle for himself. He didn’t care who heard; Then promptly he was finished And he never said a word. You never know what you may find When riding on the train. What drives me bonkers may for you Sound like a sweet refrain.