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.
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