migueldeozarko
crosswalk
forward march
in that glazed
daze of being
mostly elsewhere
not here crossing Main
in front of the Scientology
building where a dozen
pigeons write
cryptographic
messages
on the sidewalk,
but this small flock
of humanity seems sadly
dispirited by cold flurries,
noon, downtown
cafes wafting grease
when one of the forlorn
almost to the far curb
calls out in a voice
like broken glass:
somebody dropped
a wallet. A few heads
swivel, a few
check pockets
or purses but foray on
so broken glass stoops
picks up the wallet
and with a backward
glance ambles on.
--Miguel de O
crosswalk
forward march
in that glazed
daze of being
mostly elsewhere
not here crossing Main
in front of the Scientology
building where a dozen
pigeons write
cryptographic
messages
on the sidewalk,
but this small flock
of humanity seems sadly
dispirited by cold flurries,
noon, downtown
cafes wafting grease
when one of the forlorn
almost to the far curb
calls out in a voice
like broken glass:
somebody dropped
a wallet. A few heads
swivel, a few
check pockets
or purses but foray on
so broken glass stoops
picks up the wallet
and with a backward
glance ambles on.
--Miguel de O