the street performer
has
four days left
to render the text
that will
save us all

the passing
trade
becomes aware
of this
while stepping over
him
they begrudge
a small allotment
of their
attention

the part of
their thoughts that
decodes
music

the
sub-routines
of the nervous system
that
coordinates movement
around obstacles

and
the reflex
that
relishes the
sensation of rain
dripping down
from one's eyebrow

as one
absently watches
four days
of chalk
art being
washed
away