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!…



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!…”