Watching

he fiddled and diddled much more
than he should, each hand wriggling with
annoyance.

shoppers grazed over broken stemmed stalks, searching
for magical herbs, spices,
whatever seemed true .

but watching them made nerves jangle,
the ends of fingers, he smoothing
the paper again.

why would they keep plowing along, almost
marching down the aisles, their mouths
making oh sounds
like hoboes releasing gas?

and jazz music seemed inopportune, all that
conniving around instruments meant
to shout.

could no one see the blue sky?
could no one simply melt in humidity
and play a violin?

these nonsense brass rhythms drove him crazy
and caffeine bonged his head somewhere
deep inside.