Accordion Angel
was playing on the streets
pressing and squeezing
while his foot tapped a beat
Dressed up for the day
from his boots to his hat
He stuck to his own style
for years has been part of his act
Not really an act
More like a concert
If you don’t know his genre
he will make you a convert
Of head nodding polka
with Mexican spice
that causes you to skip
once maybe twice
When I walked up to Angel
He looked right in my face
Taking a pic was fine
but the fee was money in his case
He kept playing and singing
his Mexican tunes
holding on to his dreams
that fame would come soon.
