I'd seen him last year,
On the other side of a windy
Constitution Avenue,
His lips daring a fine
Embouchure against the horn's
Silver mouthpiece on a winter day
So cold they might have stuck there.
Angling myself into the wind,
I pulled my fedora tighter down,
Regretting my choice of a thin,
Brown leather jacket.
Vaguely, I noted his adept scatting,
The passing tourists, their
Coins falling into his bucket.
And then he changed his tune:
The theme from Indiana Jones and the
Raiders of the Lost Ark.
Across the traffic I saw him
Facing me, blowing through his horn a
Mirthful "Hello!"
Too pre-destined on my trek,
Too cold to cross the avenue,
I waved at him and walked on,
The music-forged warmth inside me,
Colliding with this chilly knowledge:
I had received, but had not given.
There he is again,
Blowing his horn!
By the Air and Space Museum,
Deep in the heart of the
City of Broken Promises,
On a warming Spring morning,
He blows his horn for others in a city made
Infamous by those who mainly
Choose to toot their own.
Ah, my second chance, I think,
As my compensatory fiver
Falls into his bucket of dimes and quarters
And a couple of ones.
He stops, looks at me,
Starts to say thanks.
I urge him on: to play and make his bread.
And I tell him
Of his saying hello to
This stranger
The year before.
"That's right, man! You did it
With music about a lost Ark that held a
Covenant binding us all together . . .
God included, at no extra cost!"
Tell him I'm a preacher,
That he'd been an illustration in a sermon,
About being kind to strangers.
Now his horn rests on his lap, tears in his eyes.
Again I urge him on;
Confess my omission of the year before;
Wish him well; and thank him.
Again, he changes his tune:
From a block away I hear his back-at-ya:
"Love divine, all loves excelling,
Joy of heaven to earth come down!
Fix in us thy humble dwelling,
All thy faithful mercies crown."
I wave a final goodbye,
Tears fill my eyes:
Together, we have secured the Ark.
