Accordion Eyes

And still
his lonely notes
on the accordion play

Old tired eyes look up
beneath white hair
ashen pupils asking
“what no food for me tonight?
no coins for my cup?”

“Where are the days,
when kind people paid for my music?”

“Where are the days,
when kind people appreciated my confessional tones?”

“What?
no bread and wine tonight?”

Looking
asking
maybe someone?

The music stops
blind fingers fumble
to confirm the cold truth

no coins
no donations
no gift of wealth for art

not even
a tourist token

I see those grey eyes,
so sad
I hear those lonely notes singing
the pain and history
of a tired old man
lost
in the busy
rush hour
Parisian
Metro