K STREET STRAVINSKY, 1995

WHERE HAVE THEY GONE, THE ORIGINALS?
 
K STREET STRAVINSKY, 1995
K STREET STRAVINSKY WHEN PEOPLE ON THE STREETS WERE INTERESTING

K STREET STRAVINSKY

 He’s at his post,

On the corner of Connecticut and K
Where the subway sends vibrations
up the escalator
to mix with the rhythm of rush hour traffic.
He’s dependable
as horns at intersections.
 
Bike couriers, briefcase carriers, joggers
        pass by adding their parts
But HE’S the street’s original,
Its Stravinsky,
He creates the dissonance.
He conducts the Rush-Hour Suite.
He sweats
        Clothed in every emotion he’s ever owned,
        and pushing a wailing Safeway cart
        loaded with thunder and rage,
        he screams his sermons —
       obscenities mixed with Bible verses
        trough a homemade megaphone,
        at strangers who rush, shoulders hunched,
        away from the madman’s strange music
        for fear they’ll wake up
                      humming it in the morning.