Within His Birdcage
Give me that handkerchief someone dropped on the corner next to the stand
where those suits are trying to swap sunlight for twenty buckets of swampland
I need to weed the clatter of pistachios in Wall Street’s pockets
out of my ears
Chew on the wax and answer
Within his birdcage, the doves between a poor man’s lashes moan:
On hot days, we used to play in the fire hydrant
How’s he supposed to water seeds in his Styrofoam cup when the plumbing
in the corner of his lids is broken?
His eyes are hazel.
Joe
After losing my job two months ago
I couldn’t see through the monsoons threading sand
into the Akoya oysters in my eyes
But this afternoon,
when I tried to pass some guy with a fisherman’s beard and his terrier
sitting on a bunch of gritty newspapers
around the corner, I went back
asked him what his name was
gave his dog
some of my sandwich
