I walk on frittered grass
Beneath
A cast iron sky
Only one jacket worn--
a fool's plan,
But this far out from the door,
I'll labor on.
Skin ruddy
Head down,
Kicking pine cones
In the gutter,
Black bird looms
Perched on a grey tree
Preying as I'm stepping
So I'm watching him
Watch me.
But I shoot back a look
Thru my brooding leer
And lumbering gait
Sending enough negative
Vibrations to the tree bird
That he squawks
As he jumps off and takes flight
Leaving the tree shaking.