Corner of Post & Praying

Inspired by a story & song by Mischa Rutenberg (@mischamuse)

He sings of a broken heart,
of unrequited love,
of a life long ago,
far away,
in Sonora, Mexico.

He’s physically spent,
diminished, crippled,
and uses a wheelchair,
unconcerned about where
he's going, resigned to where he is.

Singing on the corner of Post & Praying.

He sings plaintively,
at the top of his lungs,
non-stop, everyday,
down the street from 
Union Square, 
on the corner
of Post & Praying
for a miracle.

He sings acapella,
his voice rising above
the din of the street,
bittersweet, mixing 
the pungent smell
of depletion 
with prestige.

He sings across 
from Cartier and Christian Dior,
his melody echoing off
Harry Winston’s locked glass door,
what sparkles in those windows
is not what sparks his songs.

It’s hard living this way, 
but harder back home, 
far better here
even though 
he's alone.

Before his body 
was worn and depleted
he worked long shifts
in places with faces
he no longer remembers,
now he just shares
verses learned 
over all the years.

Back then
he sang and played guitar,
sang love songs and glad songs,
his voice no better
but stronger 
and full of conviction.

Now, there’s no guitar,
no strings attaching
him to anything,
just his raspy older voice
and a lot of sadder songs
reminiscent of home.

Most people 
hustle right by,
avoiding his eyes, 
invisible other than 
for his voice rising high,
melding softly 
into the city’s pulsing vibe.

No matter, 
he keeps singing
his repertoire of songs,
mostly sad ones, occasionally
lamenting a love lost,
all blurring together 
into one long 
melancholy tune
wafting through
a cold, blind city
blanketing it 
with a little warmth.