Heading
to a Gig
He stands beneath a stop sign…
…waiting
for his ride.
He tugs his jacket tighter…
…to leave
the cold denied.
He left one gig behind him…
…with
one left on the side.
A six-string in his hand, now…
…some
music in his head.
Just waiting for a bus, now…
…until
he walks, instead.
And when the sun lies low, now…
…he’ll
know the day is dead.
Put one foot on the sidewalk…
…and
now it’s time to roam.
Playing blues inside a gin joint…
…beneath
a neon dome.
And when the clock strikes 3AM…
…he’ll
finally make it home.
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