BROADWAY TO SURRY HILLS

The dark leafy street
holds a suspended silence
frequently pierced by
fenced off barking dogs,
drawing attention  
to passing males.
 
Squatting in the breeze
on his bus stop branch,
gazing thru territorial  
space to exposed granite,
where books nestle in
a purple blanket.
 
Crossed legged beside an  
open door, neck scarfed,
an empty by his knee,
dancing notes escaping from
weathered wood, casting a web
over thousands of passers-by.
 
Like the teenage boy in an
orange spray jacket,  
flying along Town Hall Station,
squawking like a cockatoo.
 
Roaring echoes approach
only to disappear into
the dark mouth of their
collective resting space.
Shrieking young females  
gallop full pelt downhill,
thundering the darkness
in unified sound.
 
Retreating into sandstone,
taking in tiny terraces,
looking towards distant high rise.
 
Morganpoet