The Kinko's Poet
Listen to the poetic groove HERE.
!2 below in Baltimore.
I stepped into a Kinko's on Charles Street, and was greeted by a poet
who welcomed me to his impromptu show by the cash register.
I had heart to spare and so I listened, while the poet spoke his peace
about a boy who grew up hard with words that bit and rhymes that bit harder
than the winter we were all trying to escape.
He was good.
So I an another listener taking reprieve from the cold gave thanks
for his enlightening what would otherwise have been just a night.
And as I paid for my copies, I overheard the poet tell the listener
that it was his dream to self-publish his words, so the world could hear them
and undertsand his song.
And as I left, I couldn't help but overhear the listener talk the poet out of his dream.
You don't want to do that, the listener said. You need an agent.
And I wanted to turn back and tell the poet that his dream was enough,
if he believed in his words and believed in his song.
But it was late.
And it was my turn to head back into the cold.
words and drums by Fred Smith