Seems you hugged this corner
for years, bedraggled head dipped
over your guitar, a beat-up job you hugged,
a child. Your sweet soulful song filled
my ears, made my fingers thump
frets on my thigh, a beat contrary to
your tapping feet. Your eyes twitched to
the slung open case, nervous-like,
to slim bills tumbled in coffee-stained velvet.
Every few songs you scooped the coins
into jean pockets, a swift, measured stroke.
I perched on the stone wall nursing
my smoke, watching other passersby
toss a quarter, or not. Later, at home,
I pulled out my Fender, unplugged and
strummed, thinking of you, notes spinning,
where you slept after your gig.
Never threw a buck your way.
Not once all those years.
Didn’t know the sweet sound of coins
thudding in a can, not until
I had to sing for my bed.
Prompt: Until _____
Not sure where this idea came from.