Seeding the Pot - Nov 1 2024

 

Seeding the Pot

Nov 1 2024



The street musician

who played mandolin

with frayed fingerless gloves,

sang hauntingly

in a smoke-and-whiskey voice,

must be used, by now

to passers-by ignoring him.

And if I’d been in a rush

I too wouldn’t have stopped.

An audience of one

on a busy corner

where people briskly walked

eyes on their phones.

The open instrument case

had mostly loose change.

The few bills, I suspect

were his,

prudently seeding the pot.

Like a farmer seeds the soil,

or seed money

for a startup

you’re counting on to grow,

long-shot or not.

The power of suggestion,

the spur of conformity.

It could be a young man

hoping generosity

will impress his date.

An older man

of undeserving privilege

impelled by guilt.

Or maybe the same guy

when he’s down on his luck

but in the mood to give;

because, after all

doesn’t misery love company,

doesn’t giving

even a little

pick you up?

Or really anyone

who lucked into a windfall

and wants to share.

Except it’s me.

Not some giddy lapse in judgement.

Not prodded by lust, guilt, or what-the-hell.

Not flush

with unexpected wealth.

Just what you do

when you’re standing there

and the man is playing his heart out.

And in an unfair world

— where talent is ignored,

effort not rewarded,

and bad people flourish

while misfortune dogs the good —

you feel some folding money

for a promising musician

earning his way

might slightly even the score;

one small win

for the little guy.

Hard to hear

in all the cacophony.

But it was a good song

and he sung it well.