Toss me a coin, My headphone trussed love

BUSKERS. I lived in a city called Sydney four years, and I left it frequently. I developed a ritual where every time I returned I had to give a busker - any busker - in the tunnel, a generous donation. Other people visit their favourite god, donate to charities. Buskers are often around places where travellers arrive, at least in Australia and Western Europe. In Latin America, the so-called "Third World" busking is a serious occupation: on buses, intersections, metro. But still I can somehow associate it with being on the move. Medieval artists travelled to seek work: performers, sculptors, musicians. I've busked only once (so far), as an adult anyway. A story to save for later.

Now a friend in Sydney called Amy, has just sent me an email about buskers in that tunnel: "Here's what i just wrote cause i felt dumb about giving some coins to a musician in the tunnel without listening to what he was even playing!"

so:

Toss me a coin,
Gold, silver or faded
My headphone trussed love

Dreamy girl, my dream
Walk with sure timed steps
Trodden to music only you hear

I’ll play you a tune
Throned in my tunnel;
An amphitheatre of sound
with audience capacity infinite

Flick me a coin, dear
And I’ll pipe so divinely
Twiddle my bow or trill my flute

How we’ll dance together
My love, that those walking right
will be so entranced that they’ll turn left

Such musical quality
My hands and head possess
Created with desire for you
But plugged in you’ll hear me not

So just toss me a coin
And keep on walking
I’ll keep on playing