the long notes pull
through the noise of the city
the frenzy of mall
abandoned shops boarded up

the European old in his dark suit
docked in the shadow
eyes the passers-by
plucks a film with his song

as he casts the heroine
pushing her pram in the rain
the gang on the benches
blow smoke rings

the boy with the long gaze
turns back and buttons his coat
takes an exit on a cobble hill
the bow grates against grain

Norma Wilow