Cricket In The City

All those Nike feet Pound the black tar street Busily bundled in bustling herds Where too many words Scratch the skyscrapers Lost in blowing newspapers From a roadside stand Crowds demand More spaces In a sea of passing faces Sirens blaring, open airing Of dirty laundry such the quandary Of a city on daily parade The endless cascade Of rushing to get nowhere quick Subways thick With staleness and the paleness Of proper suited businessmen Scurrying about in a shout Of flashing traffic signals As they wiggle round Times Square And in a sidewalk crack, there A displaced cricket Who thinks it's wicked For none to hear his symphony made Of bow drawn legs Music played Like that of a meadow Far, far away A train clangs, Climbing to platformed stop A cop walks his beat In sweltering heat Past the naked cowboy Who strums his guitar Made into a star By tourist dollars The cricket hollars For the yellow cabs to halt Cool the circus asphalt Long enough to hear the glide Of the songs that slide From his violin legs He begs they hear his minuet For just an instant, they to forget Overcrowded ambivalence Serenade them, deliverance With music box melodic muse Before they pound their shoes To the shuffle of the street Unaware how sweet The cricket plays.... For free without frenzy of care Unnoticed but heard in Times Square *Nike: sneakers, as seen worn by the street pounding people on New York City streets *Times Square: perhaps the busiest crossroad in the world, the heart of Manhattan..naturally noisy