Saturday night, Union Square
at Fourth and Market,
street corner music man,
old skinhead black guy
in knee long lab coat
marked “lab technician”
dug out of hospital dumpster,
squattin’ on rattan basket,
fish bowl out front his gig
on gummed up cement
stuffed with green backs,
loose change, what-not,
for riffs of cosmos
upside/down, inside/out,
syncopatin’ with overturned five gallon
paint buckets, dented pots,
fry pans, 52 oz glass jars,
bonkers with ancient drum sticks,
shoutin’ out, cryin’ out,
“Save the world! Pee-pull!…”
“Save the world! Pee-pull!…
Pee-pull!…”
to young and mix race lovers,
androgynes, LGBTs
arm n’ arm friends, runaways,
pimps, pink and purple hairs,
all time Halloweeners,
weekend grannies with kids,
poser U-dudes n’ chicks,
tourists in medley of designer
rip offs from discount stores
in today’s colors, leathers, tams,
jazzin’, laughin’, hurryin’
no place, no way,
carryin’ on to his Carib,
bang, bang, bangin’
timpanic, street wise,
sing-song chantin’ y’all:
“Lisss-en, pee-pull!
Lisss-en, pee-pull!
Lisss-en, pee-pull!…”