Freaking out
a sarod player
on 6th Street
in the East Village
(Manhattan, NYC
for all you knaves out there)
All I did was walk by
as he was in the window
and played his piece.
His eyes, livid with shock
followed me as I walked
I checked my fly
It was up
I didn’t think that
I looked too bad
at least not
by East Village standards
Who knows?
Maybe in his religion
there’s a picture
of a God
that looks just like me
Or maybe a devil
That’s more likely
Who would ever worship
a god that looks like me?
It was rather weird
I don’t really get it
or know what I did
but maybe that’s my calling
I’m supposed to run around
and bedevil sarod players
in East Village restaurants
I shouldn’t scoff at it
as stupid and meaningless
as my life has been so far
why shouldn’t I get
a dumb ass purpose like that?
It would be a fitting
and appropriate epitath
to this crazy life
filled with self delusion