Four sparrows pick
at a chicken bone.
The spray of last night’s McCormick,
Butterfingers and rolling papers flutter in the path
like quietly existing flowers.
A boy snoozes on a bench; his smooth,
brown neck exposed. A Lays bag is whipped
by a morning gust to his shin.
The dull brick of this hamlet
sits silent for the oncoming
sun, awaiting its momentary rinse.
The act of tossing these
seeds is small, but herein lies
an aggression. Red and white blazes
up over the farthest building. All at once
the sparrows take flight for different ledges.
Featured photo credit: photo by Anna J. Witiuk