Busker Joe

Licking wounds and playing the spoons
In shopping malls; retail cocoons
Battered alleys and tattered clothes
Just scraping by with one eye closed

Too tired to fend off last night’s thugs
Hands blue with cold and lack of gloves
Coins in mug clink, rattle and spin
Just loud enough to drown the din

Cacophony crammed into head
As paranoia slowly spreads
Isolation amid the crowd
Air of madness worn as a shroud

As night descends, day comes to close
I wonder where the busker goes

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