On Christmas Eve while doing last minute shopping, I ran across a man I hadn't seen in about two decades. I don't know his name, but I saw him for years walking down Newbury Street after waiting tables as he sang for his money. I finally put him in my poem "City Scape" with the following stanza:
On Newbury,
reggae-singing
beggar
too careful and slow
coins percussion,
weathers New
England.
It's amazing to learn that he somehow survived not only all this time, but also the year 2020. If I see him again next year, I swear I'm going to get his name and ask him where he's been all this time.
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