the busker at Folsom Field

As I left a football game at Folsom Field to go warm up on one particurlary cold afternoon, I noticed a busker playing a bucket like a drum near the intersection. I couldn't stop thinking about how cold his hands must be, yet how determined he was. I was with my friends who were hurrying, so I didn't stop to give him cash. I regret it very much. I think about that guy frequently, and wrote this poem about him as well.