7985. ALL THE WHAT-NOT I CANNOT DO

ALL THE WHAT-NOT

I CANNOT DO

Some wounds fester, and limbs fall off.

Or so, it seems. There is a secondary ending

to most great stories  -  and here the lady is

bringing more. This is a Bank Street story,

and it is late afternoon.

-

Two men with guitars are playing an Alabama

song; slaves and the auction block and all that

old folkie stuff. Their pose is just right, and

the one in the hat comes across real well. I

ask their names, and he says 'Jyrus Wayne.'

-

Well, no, I'd never heard a name like that

before. It was his alone, the guy with the

hat. The other fellow was Ronnie James.

I told them they were good and I liked the

sound. We bought each other drinks, one

round.  And the lady is bringing more.

-

I've met a busker or two in my day. One

fellow, came all the way here from England.

We met at the bar called 'Swift's' and had a

few  -  he was a jolly good fellow and I hated

to see him move on. Now, five years later,

I can't even remember his name.

(And the lady is bringing more).