Tales of coming and going, movement on the insides
and the outsides
of the bodies.

The amateur beauty of the harmonica child,
Harmonies, surprisingly crafty,
polk along with the crack-pop of chicken being tendered
and fries not too salty at-all.

The line for New York City, Zanesville, and Philly;
a young man softly sifting through lady hair.  
And the shoes on this bunch all surprisingly thrifty.
Do not stare, echo mothers of the past.  

All pragmatics aside, I eavesdropped intently
to earnest voices of men, touch on topics of race.  
Gruff solitude, paired with fluorescent hung-lights
and a retrospective friend pacing endlessly.

Only the words that flow out seamlessly now,
can tell toward which mood I'll be leaning.