poor violin

in the piazza again, plays without giving
without tempo, lean, shabbily dressed
sans feeling, songs run together
effort expended is to show up

three minutes pass, the repetition pauses,
passes into the crowd, no one looks up
extending a paper cup, seeking coins
he just got there, most ignore him, now he is leaving

moves on in his round, they don’t see him go
to the next outdoor café, few notice,
repeat motions of the last hour, the last day
there is no end, melody fragments the same

months pass into seasons, some give coins for no reason
as years slip by, he has a poor violin, not quite in tune
faces at the tables revolve, he need not notice,
does his rounds again, plays the violin heartless