Friday, September 25, 2009

My friend and I
eat sunflower seeds
sitting on a park bench
feeding birds.

I point to
a gray spotted one;
that one, I say,
that one has to have every last one.

He nods.

A moment, and a brown one
bobbing from beneath our feet,
stroking its wings.
That one only wants attention.

He nods.

A black bird,
sitting in a lone tree, watching
the others coo and garble for bread.
That one, I say, he would rather wait;
he thinks he's better than the flock.
But all birds are still birds.

My friend nods,
considers me with hollow eyes,
gathers his robes.

Death tosses his seeds
and leaves.

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