The conductor

He bore that sameness every stranger had.
A nine to five, a dream in mind, a few,
few digits in the bank. He dreamed of jazz:
the syncopations, swinging til’ the two
notes clashed. A bang that woke him up, unclothed
on concrete sidewalk, signage begging “cash.”
Their eyes despised as they passed by: how gross!
He screeched at them, not to them, but bashed
this world that has abandoned him, this earth
that left him stray. He gripped his needle tight,
a coin-less bowl he spun. He lingered there,
Directing traffic at the passersby.
In his own symphony, his arms swayed free,
a dream-come-true——conductor of the streets.