By the fountains today
sang a man, stood in an
officer stance, his hands
tight across his watermelon
gut, thick cables ran down
his neck, two bulging biceps
wrapped in black blazer each
side of a broad chest, his heavy
chin of dense Sahara stubble
and a wire wool goatee hung
beneath.

And how soft he sang,
smooth as butter,
beautifully
crisp and light
like cream cheese,
turning heads
from far across
the street.