Class Acts

He jumped from behind a bush,
not in Australia,
one he was holding on a sidewalk
in front of the Wharf in San Francisco.
He used it as a carpenter does
a hammer, a saw, a square:
scared the passers by, and once
they wiggled free of embarassment,
put money in his bucket.
I went, and bought a basket of crabs,
sat on the finger of a pier, and watched.
After an hour he leaned his tool against a pole,
and headed back toward the vendors.
As he passed in front of me, he looked down—
I think he noticed I’d been watching,
we both smiled, then laughed.
He disappeared around a corner,
I cleaned up my mess of shells and paper towels,
and moved on to a pair of gold and silver mimes.