Street Scenes

The Saturday brunchers congregate on Latte Laneways, where everybody waits to be seen among the hip and the loud. There's a strange kid in a black beret waiting for life, painting the scene in his mind and never speaking out; But in vain, because the silent are passed by or absorbed into the crowd. Makunda's kitchen serves up a spicy dish, from some place more exotic and noble and proud than here: To a midday stoner returning from some place far out and a good-time girl with teased up hair. "Got any change?" comes a voice from beyond the great divide- He speaks out of time with a poet's grace, but nobody sees the glorious street scenes locked up in his mind; He wanders off with a drinkers swag, Sad for the busses all passed him by.