the man sits on the station wagon's tailgate
playing his violin-oblivious
to ordinary happenings
around him. Pure notes

float like birds
through vacant air
before landing on hot concrete
between parked cars.

Is he on his way
to the regional violin-or is it fiddle-
retreat nearby? Unlike street comer performers
or subway musicians in big cities,

no crowds gather,
no applause, no money.
He plays folk songs on the instrument
same as heard in pioneers' homes.

Live dining music
as children clutch Happy Meal toys
and mothers' hands,
white-haired couples pause

in leisurely travel to no important destination,
workmen seek brief coolness for hurried meal.
Familiar sameness-that's why people stop
at golden arches. But today,

melodic spell unbroken as if commonplace,
no one questions why
a stranger shares music
in McDonald's parking lot.

Faye Williams Jones
North Little Rock, AR