The Street Singer
by Tim G. Young
The Street singer heads down the highway
The highway heads down the road
The interstate intersects above the high rail
The overpass rests miles down the trail
Inside the Street singers heart
The blood flows at ninety miles an hour
A race has begun
Before the melody escapes from clenched teeth
He holds on to dear life
The Street singer has choices to make
And many exits to choose
Number 298 Number 909
Choosing the wrong choice might mean a dead end
Instead the Street singer sails his boat
Down the river winding like the twisted road
He has left behind
He doesn't mind
The journey and the street
All about time
About time the Street singer sings
Lost in his reverie
Driving his boat like a fast car
The sail meeting rubber soul on the road
The noise of tires and rudder
Drowning out every missed chance to pass
Every road stop
Shrouded in the pale veil of tired vending machines
Spitting out quarters
Flying into the guitar case
Of the Street singer
The Street singer gathers up his coins
and counts up to a hundred before
The last G string stops vibrating
Then back to the highway
The highway back to the road
The winding river becomes clear
In his rear view mirror
The mirror records every second elapsed
Since the journey began
He holds his own hand
Looks at it and sees the years
Gone slowly by but more rapid than the 18 wheelers
The Street singer sometimes passes as he sings
The Street singer stops for a hamburger
While waiting he spills the coffee
The cup lays on its side
Hugging the counter
But the waitress removes it and brings another
The Street singer makes a song
The waitress plays a significant role
She stands on the shoulder with her thumb in the wind
The Street singer picks her up
While she shows the way and the
Light up ahead glows Motel
She takes his hand and guides it
He's been on this road before
In a second the lights are over
When the sheets begin to sing
The Street singer hangs on every word
He is accustomed to and plays the correct chord
At exactly the right moment
The sun falls on his face
The race for about time is complete
But his eyes still move faster and further
Down the left lane than he can possibly hope to see
The mountains move from left to right
There are no signals ahead
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Author's Note
Ferlinghetti
Other stories by Tim G. Young
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The way my feet were moving when I read this I should have struggled out of my recliner and danced. I could hear Fogelberg in the background singing these lyrics!
Thank you, Matt. Interesting. The things I put up here I do not often think of as lyric but what do I know!
Good poem Tim.
*
Thank you, Bill.
"The mountains move from left to right"
Always such an assured rhythm with your stuff.
Love this writing, love the flow that you establish from the start *
Many thanks, Darryl and Foster.
"The Street singer hangs on every word
He is accustomed to and plays the correct chord
At exactly the right moment
The sun falls on his face"
Good piece. The imagery works well.
Life on the road seems so romantic at a distance. The road must be like a lover, a mate, a reason. You capture it, the allure.
From a Distance. Thank you, Dianne.
*. low 5, also known as a foot bump.
Foot bump to you, Jerry.
"The mountains move from left to right
There are no signals ahead"
Balls to the wall, Tim!
Right-e-o, Ms. Kitty Boots. And thanks.
I love this. Especially the last stanza. Keep on singing, Street singer! *
Thank you, Beate, That means so much.
Reminds me Tim of La Luna and Moon in the Gutter .... some things linger with never an intention to leave ... x the Street Singer joined this collection.
Many thanks, Amantine.