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Freaking out

a sarod player
on 6^th 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