On Pacific and Maple

The man from São Paulo

steps off the Greyhound bus

on the corner

of Pacific and Maple.

 

Sweating,

humming of garlic.

 

The lilt in his ears is,

'How Do You Mend A Broken Heart?'

by the Reverend Al Green.

 

It is fading.

Yet soothing.

 

He will have to buy

new batteries

for his five-dollar

bargain bucket

walkman

soon.

 

This man cannot

live without music.

It’s a road to redemption.

 

There is shallow change

in his

well-fingered,

baggy deep

chino pockets.

 

Enough for coffee

and bread maybe.

 

That was good.

 

He carries the currency

of his multicoloured bongos

under his arm like a baby.

 

On his back,

a stuffed red

falling apart

journeyman rucksack.

 

Inside,

there’s loud shirts from

'Frank's Thrift' in Sacramento

for one dollar,

plus two hours ironing.

 

Some picture poetry,

a toothbrush,

some hash,

for sleeping.

 

But for now.

This crystal framed,

sun charged,

road melting,

Santa Cruz morning,

is a new town for him to take.

A soft song for him to sing.

 

The only hand that will hold

you through

the hard times.