A carnival of shoes, tracked and true.
False to travelers who wander aloud,
soft in their thoughts, catatonic in the breakfast sun.
Shade in the tunnels, the mud-soaked margins,
midway inside the mad and quickened place,
carried away — a steelpan artist!
Scientist of twing: ba-da-ting, ba-da-ting—relief
throbs the green and tiled halls.
Cornered by Trinidad, alert and bible high,
below him a mutt and a Slurpee cup.
Plates of bystanders—a Greek salad of hurry.
Calmly the former merchant marine,
deserted, he calls out the chorus—sublingual sounds,
dog eared by feet and the rumbling train.