Oct. 8, 2012

When I Shared a Cigarette #1

Northern skies shine,
     crisp on a Sunday morning.

In the grass by my bare feet,
A lame grasshopper struggles through the lawn,
     hobbling his way to the sidewalk,
          his left leg pinched off by Fate,
A weathered old man
      who's seen better days.

He reaches the pavement,
      pops a squat,
          and I scooch over
               to give him some room.
He's about the size of my cigarette butt,
     so I pinch off a scrap of tobacco to share.
He lights it up gratefully.

I ask him,
     "How'd you lose the leg?"

He takes a drag.
"Fuckin' sparrow.
Clipped me over on Damen.
Never saw him comin'.

Not so bad,
     really,
          but haven't gone hoppin' since.
Thanks for the smoke."

He stumbles on his way,
     and I do my best
          to brush away the marching ants
               hot on his trail.