The Roadsmith
There I was late at night at a park on Taylor Street
Never planned to come this way
It’s just how things are
As always it started with an evening walk
Down Broadway
Street jamming with friends
Busking for beer money
Singing the songs of Bowie
In front of the Yard and Flagon
Just a typical night during the Fringe
Till I noticed a small group of strangers
A young man on a bike, a tall blonde gal
A short bespectacled lady
Long flowing skirt and black hooded sweater
They complimented my singing
I went back to the jam session
Till the hustle money in the guitar case
Hank and Ozzy leaving for the sweet taste of beer
Whilst I decided to head home
Not craving drink at the time
A block from home I noticed a blue avenger
Three people stood next to it
Chatting away and then beckoned me
Waving me over to the car
There I met her, The Roadsmith
Banjo in hand, keyboard in the trunk
She asked me if I wanted to jam
Naturally, I obliged her
The sounds of Tom Waits
Sea shanties of old
Our voices merged
To the sound of the banjo
We journeyed onward to the park on Taylor
Just the four of us
A pair of eastern travellers
And two Saskatoonians
Whose paths never crossed
Jamming on in the moonlight
I conversed with the Roadsmith
Swapping stories, swatting mosquitoes
While playing banjo and keys
We parted ways
when the rain clouds came
Then we met again the next day
The rain hung on well past dawn
Keeping ourselves warm with freshly roasted coffee
Making art together one more time
Before the Roadsmith continued westward