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Lyrics » Accordion Street

Violin man drinks gin with long violin fingers, drinks 
	in his shadow
on Accordion Street
watches jay walkers with pin stripes and chain wallets 
	walk their dogs in a hurry
everybody's in a hurry on Accordion Street
latchkey kid with a special St. Patrick's Day issue of 
	Hustler under his belt and a 
pack of American Spirit unfiltered in his sock walks out 
	of Augie's Newsroom
in a hurry
old Mrs. Jackson with her desert red hair and red painted 
	lips on the watch through cataract fog eyes
for her husband Andrew who disappeared 3 years ago taking 
	Accordion Coffee, College Books and
The Soda Fountain with him in a hurry
story goes Mrs. Jefferson killed her husband and his 
	butt sex buddy caught on film
buried them alive hog tied under the windmill at Fun City 
	Mini Golf in the old mall and now she gets all 
dolled up every day to play Mrs lonely and deserted to 
	hide the fact
in a hurry
two cocker spaniels eat each other in the sun in order to 
	find shade
there are no trees on Accordion Street where
everyone's in a hurry and no one goes anywhere
not the skaters, the hooker bait business men, college grads, 
	migrant hippies, punks or bums who
come and come and come and come for the circus they say
as long as the smell of wax is in the air and the Yankee Candle 
	keeps selling candles they'll stay
they say
as long as The Christmas Shop stays open year round and 
	Ricky Lake can be heard though
open windows from the street
as long as Liquors 44 sells alcohol on Sundays and Family Planning 
	never buys the almost empty 
laundromat building where Violin man keeps warm in winter and
as long as they keep on playing Tom Waits albums at 
	The Church Key weeknights from 9 'till last call
a stained glass window and a Dirty Harry Pinball machine 
	provide glow incandescent to the music and
as long as the sweet smell of Salmon Street- slippery scaly sweet
is always right around the corner
inaccessable always and always tomorrow but always there always 
there
like the Jackson in the brim of Violin man's Pork Pie hat
he's saving it for a rainy day or a special occasion
always there
like the guy they call "Man" who carries his whole life around 
	with him in plastic bags except that is for a 
favorite shirt he never wears
hangs it on the moon so no one steals it he says
always there
like the Phone Lady who every day stands by the broken payphone 
	in front of Augie's News room waiting 
for her daughter to call and meticulously fixing her hair 
	while she waits
like another day on Accordion Street
everything familiar, as it were 
has been
will be
from behind violin fingers in his shadow on Accordion street

All poems © by Egil Dennerline, 2004
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