BOSTON SCATTERS

In a tweed jacket
a button falls
on Beacon Hill
forgetting my umbrella
in the August rain shower
along the Esplanade
a cruise ship stops
as a lone runaway
with an acid face
and attitude
tries to cover
his own pain
I'm trying to remember
a passage in Walden Pond
or an ode of Emerson
deciding to go underground
again to play sax riffs
by the old corner book shop
where my latest collection
is featured at the window
wishing to be rid
of lethal insomnia
or to be a year younger
here at the train station
in a subterranean mood.