The Minor Key
.
He walked in a minor key,
past the record store and the
amusement arcade; past his
own reflection in the window
of a cafe: where clouds hung
from the ceiling, a shiny teaspoon
stirred sugar into tea, the face
of a little boy looked up and
away and a bus with backwards
words, drove through them.
In the street, between the back
of a parked car and a yellow taxi,
a man on his knees prayed
alongside the tick-ticking of
a cooling engine; a black boy
in a dress, screamed at someone
who wasn’t there and a woman,
wearing a business suit and
sneakers, sat down on the steps
of a brownstone and wept.
With his head down, he crossed
the street and entered a small
walled garden, where a crane had
recently removed the two hundred
year old diseased cherry tree, and
replaced it with a sapling. It was
there that he found the melody.
