Just Below 30 Degrees

There he stood on the median
of the busy four lane avenue,
two snare drums poised before him,
nimble drumsticks dancing
in his gloved hands.

I had heard the music
before I actually saw him,
cars muffling the sound a bit,
hiding him behind travelers
off to work or shopping,
warm behind rolled-up windows
and gently vented air.

I couldn't read his posted sign
as the traffic flowed by.
I couldn't take in his face
but only caught sight of his gloves,
one pale blue, the other gray
hopping about like injured birds
trying to take flight with frozen wings
as the temperature of the biting air hovered
just below 30 degrees.
***