The soundscape of the tourist trek
is vibraphone and log drum
with a simple kit as well.
Pecking through the air
their plucks more pleasant
than the pumps parading
cobblestone and brick

Neon-colored death
walks like a frog
between the cars
and scares the tourists
and the locals
into coming to their show.
Death’s drummers pound
in competition
drowning out the vibes
for half a block.

Flyers fill my hands
more music makes
it’s way through town.
I bond on the bench
with a stranger who’s daughter
came to college from DC.
I spot the old guy always dancing,
now he’s vibing as he grooves his way west.

The homeless guy outside the corner market
doesn’t blame a soul for putting him out
living on the streets, he made that choice, he said
and liked when I agreed, “because it happens all the time,
to anyone – it’s how we choose then to respond
that really counts.”

The sun goes down,
the wind picks up,
my spirit simply soars.

The sidewalks fill
as cares are emptied,
Mona Lisa smiles.

The girl who’s hair is cut like mine is everywhere these days
but thankfully, we each have our own twist, or spike, or style.

The foreign couple next to me,
read through my dog-eared catalog
containing my marked preferences,
they wonder if their daughter
knows about the goings on.
The people walking past all seem to share a common purpose
note the couple before parting – then, what’s that???

The losers of the toilet race on tricycles are lauded
by a few, but the beginners boast the best of both
shock value and success.

Maidens dance the elements and glow in colored costumes
born specifically for unique choreography and melody.

Smoking up in Elfreth’s Alley,
chillin’ in the lamppost’s light –
at the ancient water cooler,
classic rock tunes fill the air
and fall from second story spinning porches
where the ladies whiled away and
weaved dramatic summer stories.
Ms. Egan’s Garden, slate seats circle,
curve invitingly, and offering some shade by day,
small light by night, plus privacy in virtually any situation.

When the night has ended,
this lone viewer overlooks
her cultured city of the arts
with all her senses stimulated
and the elements evoked,
she starts the journey home to sleep,
to dream, to play again ‘pon waking.

~Inner Light