Ode to the Street Pianist

He sits nearly motionless
Despite the movement around him
As city dwellers rush about desperately
Like insects
A battered fedora
Perches awkwardly on his head
Partially covering his face,
Calmly concentrating
Calloused hands caress
Chipped ivory keys
Before delicate, practiced fingers
Lovingly apply the slightest bit of pressure
Allowing a soft, bittersweet chord
To ring through the air
Nearly inaudible
Over the noise of the city
The sound hangs in the air
For a mesmerizing second
Then fingertips are flying,
A flurry of notes
Dance through the air
Melding together beautifully
Nobody stops to listen
(Apart from myself)
A couple carelessly toss coins
Into a dusty jar
Sitting quietly next to the bench
Before rushing off
He pays this no mind,
A subtle smile tugging
At the corner of chapped lips
Grey eyes close peacefully
As fingers continue to dance
Slowing to a stop
He throws me a quick glance
And a small, crooked smile
Before launching his heart
Back into the music.
?





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