vagabond street blues

vagabond street blues
by DIY Danna
Rubber tire sandals on concrete
after the rain sounds like
diving in pools of pontification
and drowning in the hypocrisy.
The lone brown figure stands plump
and juicy with exciting tales
of listening to a bluesman
on a dusty crossroads –
Damnation intersecting pure jubilee
of self discovery and new
wonderworlds of fruit and fungus
on the fattened virgin tongue.
Will he truly beat her to death
after dusk when well-dressed
paupers ask for change –
and the old blues singer wails?
He moans for a divine peace
that runs like fountains of gin
in a disease free whorehouse
where he pimps his old lady.
I listen for a while and
my eyes meet a stranger’s –
a watery and muddy green Mississippi.
And my blues feel like home sweet home.
As I look down at wet muddy feet,
my sandals hum to the tune
and the stranger sways and
closes his eyes as if praying for me.