somewhat poetic

kind older
homeless man with a
round weathered face
and he smiled and sat and played the flute
outside nearby my place of work

his flute skills were sub-par/
notes arbitrary, seemingly
played clumsily
awkwardly

but over the time that i would see him
playing, (sometimes in the rain)
i liked to think that he was improving
slowly

(and as much as i liked him
(and i did indeed like him)
never once did i pay him)

and one day he came in, complaining
of some rough and unsavoury
homeless most probably
types, unpleasant
most probably

who were threatening to come
and hurt him and move him on
and take his place. outside, nearby my
place of work

i see him around from time to time
elsewhere, fluteless

and a new man sits in the old spot
occasionally playing that old flute
funnily enough, very well

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