3472. ON SPOON-BIRD HILL

ON SPOON-BIRD HILL

'I don't have no money' said the

man on the street, holding a sign

which read 'Give me a dime.' Burning

up the thoroughfare like it was a simple 

fact  -  in such a way as this! 'In fact,'

 he reiterated, 'I don't got anything at

all, 'cept this rancid guitar which, if ya' 

don't watch out, I'll start playing again!' 

Could have been, instead, quite the comedian.

-

I'd been watching this bird since long before

now  -  I almost knew his every move : the

bounce-inflected, come-hither voice, so 

perfect for jack-hammering passersby into

a submission  -  finding money where they'd

forgotten it was before. This life, being a

realistic illusion anyway, I well can understand.

-

A mile from here, the foggy bay bells bristled;

distorted tones, twisted by the wind and the hills.

I took a moment to listen, on Spoon-Bird Hill.