"Cable Tow"

(That which hastens the snow's descent must be fearful indeed.)

Just as you've managed to set aside your guilt
for the figure huddling in the snow,
scavenging for the coins he earned
with his beautiful voice,
your meal arrives.

After all, you've had to make some sacrifices.
A man like that can only blame himself,
his talent going to waste,
falling on deaf ears.
He deserves scorn.

(Don't preach with your mouth full, little one.)

The busker folds a paper bag into his jacket
and endeavours to ford the slush.
A car with broken headlights
rounds the sharp corner,
clouded in snow.

The man's straggling hair flows in the wind,
his deer-in-the-headlights stance
amusing the cafe's patrons.
All you can do
is look away.

(No, guilt isn't the point of this exercise, my child.)
[Then what is the lesson?]

In mute horror, you retreat inside
to indulge in your own miseries,
in envy of another man's death.

(Look you fool! Bear witness to a hero!)
[I see no hero.]
(Then at the last, I see that I have misjudged you.)

In these moments, our barriers fail,
emotions runneth over.
The mirrors that face each other
are ever so tilted.
Radiation of aspiration,
sign-language gematria,
These windows let in more than light
and more escapes than heat.
Empathic electricity jumps from one node to another.

(You're in danger! Foolish boy, refocus your centre!)
[I will not be browbeaten.]

In disgust, you turn to pick up your coat.
It wouldn't be the first time
that you abandoned a meal.
One more sacrifice
for the elders.

Outside lies relief and optimism. Unhurt,
the busker digs out the errant car.
The twice-grateful driver
offers to transport
but is refused.

With confidence, you approach the lucky man,
your favourite leather wallet in hand.
He grins, too proud to beg,
yet you offer coins.
He starts to laugh.

"You haven't even heard my song yet, little one!"
He throws your meagre wealth high
into the clear, unclouded sky;
generous hypocrisy
rains upon you.

Empathic electricity jumps from one node to another.