back to harborne high street
with a set of shiny new guitar strings
maybe i can find a better spot this time round
a little less traffic noise
a few more potential punters
i notice a place near the pedestrian precinct
where the pavement widens out a little
outside thomas cook and h & b
i set up in front of the crash barrier
and start to play under a slate grey sky
"there's no mistake
i smell that smell
it's that time of year again
i can taste the air"
kelly jones eat your heart out son!
but the wind is up today
and it makes my fingers cold and stiff
people shuffle past eyes down
there's a melancholic air about the scene
the new strings are more dynamic
but they cut into my fingers even more than the old rusty ones
forty-five minutes of singing into the wind and the traffic
and i am cold and disillusioned...and poor
for not a single tip or even glance of recognition have i received
dispirited i retire to a cafe nero to warm my hands over an americano
and reflect on the hit and miss of life
some days you win
some days you lose
one minute the midas touch
the next the touch of a ten-foot bargepole
kipling's twin imposters
triumph and disaster
that despite everything
must be treated just the same
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