Do right by you,
gonna do right by you,

 insists the reggae singer
at the street fair.  

Before him
a dozen tie-died swayers,
uniformly beautiful, dreadlocked,
smiling, swirling; all around them 
couples walking, mothers, fathers,
children, bobbing a bit to the music
as they stroll. 

He seems sincere
but based on the numbers
I think he’s straight up lying 
or kidding himself
because no one’s gonna do right
by everyone at once, no matter

how pretty their voice, no matter
how tight their groove.  

Do right by you,
gonna do right by you…

gotta get used to it,
learn to dance to it,
understand the promise lasts
only as long as the music does
and groove
will end, someday, so you better
do right by you, we better do right
by each other —

even after the fair, 
when the music stops,
when the clean up is all that’s left.