Chinatown

A tune pierced and whittled through the white noise.
Boy, I lifted my head and thought

Those guys fixing the ATM machine
Were as happy as lark could be

Either they must really enjoy their job
Or one another’s company.

I was wrong, neither seemed enjoyable
When I realised that “My Favourite Things”

Came jovially bumbling out from
An old man with enormous things

Left hand swinging and crinkling contents in
A red plastic bag, eyes focused

Upon his path with a determined smile.
His shirt was a darker red hue

And it might have blue stripes across his chest
I had looked away too quickly

To remember his face, his pants and shoes
For I feared he was too shy a whistler

Who would halt if I looked too hard
The whistle kept streaming the happy tune

Around the pillar then leftwards
Shrill and clear, sounded closer than I thought

When finally I decided
To look again, a shoulder peak

I was left with only a drifting tune
Drowned out in the crowded sound of

Doors beeping, open and closing
And then I don’t feeeeeeel soo baaaaaaaad

Only, his little anthem was lost where
The gantry stood closed and guarding

The old man whistling in the red shirt was
Gone in the passing marring blur.

Crossing shambling shadows of fluid bodies
Left nothing but an old, old tune

Happily fusing with the air