Three Note Harmonica

Three notes, over and over
On a harmonica
As the travelers jostle and grumble
He sits by his hat, playing
Eyes closed, unaware.

A girl waiting for the train 
On platform four shrieks, pointing
“Why doesn’t he play a song?”
Her mother hushes, drops coins. He doesn’t look.

Those same three notes.

His hat’s almost empty and grey hair sticks out
(The hat could see better use)
He sits like a pile of dirty laundry
(With a harmonica)
And plays.

Is there a symphony in his head,
Or is he writing a book?
Or does he wander his years marvelling
At the strange ways a life can turn
To leave an old man sitting on platform four
With only three notes
To ward off the cold?