they don’t know him for an artist

the law forbids him to walk the streets with the label of that bottle exposed but he does anyway

and there’s no one to care enough to report him

he’s just another drunkard getting his fix

also homeless he wears baggy jeans with lots of unruly strings around the hems and the belt a few holes at the knees a hole in the shirt dirt, sweat, something that looks like blood splotches, something that’s probably just mustard

just another drunkard getting his fix

but they don’t know him for an artist

in the breast pocket of his shirt he holds two long yellow pencils and he uses them to make music for the crows in the park and for the pigeons, though the pigeons are less impressed by his performance

he empties the bottle and finds a park bench and pulls out the long yellow pencils and starts drumming into the wood of the back rest and the crows gather round to listen and sometimes the dogs join as well and sometimes the snails after the rain but never the people