He once owned a violin
Which made his friends smile to hear
And made all people smile to see him coming.
On city corners he played
The old tunes people love
And Dvorak’s humoresque.
He loved that best:
The way the clear notes passed
Effortless through city air heavy with smog,
The way the joy of it was joy
Not unacquainted with grief
But laughing still.
The notes he played then
Were rich, full, satisfying
And the people who heard were fed.
Light delicacies of staccato
And the hearty richness of a low legato
Sated the nameless, unconscious hunger of their daily lives.
When he was done they cried:
“Encore! Again, again!”
And so he played again
And they stood, lips gently parted,
Eyes closed as they savored
The notes that held them transfixed
The notes that poured like warm wine
From the violin he once owned.
Then came the day in a dirty shop
And a quick exchange
(Better not to dwell on loss).
It bought enough to keep
Body and soul whole
For a few weeks.
Inevitably the empty arms,
That play the winds and sway
To unheard music in the city air heavy with smog,
Inevitably they wither as they play
Unseen strings. Inevitably they weaken
And they cannot hold
Even what is imagined.
Against the cold
He keeps a thin blanket
And a thinner dog
The only creature glad to see him coming.
His hair is a comic mop.
His body odd emaciated angles
Like the lines of a caricature,
Like a cartoon of himself
He has become
Humoresque.
He loved that best
He hears it last.
Silence
Broken by the cry
Of the magpie.
To those harsh notes comes reply:
“Encore! Again, again!”
Lips gently parted.
Hunger sated.
An hour after these words are exhaled on a penultimate breath the thin dog leaves to find warmth.
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Originally Posted by symphony
. The “tuna fish cans jogging” gave me a hearty laugh. 
Yeah, that image of tuna fish cans will stay with me for a long time every time I see traffic.
