Friday, September 03, 2004

music changes things

Sitting at a gas station
Waiting for Joanne
Listening to Sting

I see this guy walk by.
Nothing Special-
Middle aged, Black jeans and T shirt, longish grey hair.

But I'm listening to Sting
And it's a beautiful song
And somehow it spills out of the van
And changes things.

The guy moves along an invisible straight line
Long arms slightly swaying,
The sun picks a bright spot from his watch.

With one smooth motion
He reaches back for his wallet,
flicks it open.

His walk is easy. Fluid. Beautiful.

The pavement meets his step
Perfectly in sync with the first line of the chorus.
So certain and solid looking,
That it feels significant
That I am here,
Beholding a man
Who was Nothing Special,
But because of Sting
And the van
And the evening sun
Has become a poem.


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