down on rush street it’s rush hour
people pass by after a tough day at the office
ties and tongues loosened
water cooler gossip now barstool gossip
buses, taxis, cars playing hopscotch
until their parents call them in for supper
people going in and out of trendy restaurants
too late for the early special if there is one
they’re out of work now passing
the mostly invisible — the really out of work who sit on the bridges
with mangy hat or dented dirty metal battleship gray cup in front of them
looking for a few bucks that might rent a room
in the disappearing flophouses
shelters with 25 or 50 of your down on their luck friends
many of whom you don’t know or trust
the old man with an out of tune sax
that looks as old and decayed as he does
case propped open
scratchy voiced singer with scratched guitar
the less musical just staring at the well worn sidewalk
of which they have much in common
being ignored and stepped on by the masses
propped up by filthy facades of street life
dresses in shabby hand me down down downs
past them are the jazz and blues clubs with refined neon
that aren’t so numerous anymore like they used to be
it’s getting to be all corporate bullshit, it’s hard to get away from
ah, a stiff drink and a smile from the bartender
some uncontained bass from the man with sunglasses and a goatee playing the part well
tinkling piano from a talented yet looking bored guy
who looks like he could play this jam in his sleep
like valium on sheet music
smooth as warm butter on a hot knife
the drummer looking all cool and keeping the beat beating
playing a song that’s anonymous but friendly
there’s a late train going back so it’s okay
