Thursday, September 22, 2011


Late at night
Men pull food
Out of restaurant garbage
Some of it eaten
Some shoved into plastic bags.

And in the morning

One crabbed old man
Pulls a cart
Filled with dirty bags
His tattered shreds
Into the square

Calling in the pigeons.

He crumbles bread
Over the pavers
Where hundreds of birds
Cloud and swirl
Landing on arms and head

Flapping for a share.

We move closer
Cameras thieving
His image
Until he spies us    Cautious
Moving around the edges.

He holds out a crooked hand
But we back away
Across some thin line
From filth and stench

And fear.

Glowering, he spits at us
And grabs a bird
In violence
Wringing from it
What we would not give

Even as fair trade.


  1. A violent ending. Maybe you should be like Greeks bearing croissants....petit dejeuner.

  2. Violent, yes and he stuffed the dead bird in a plastic bag...I'm guessing to be roasted later. It all brought a young girl to tears. I'm afraid it's life on the edge. Am trying to get a new perspective on that....get over my middle class revulsion.