What stops me cold as I suck in the fumes
perfuming the air at Marshall’s Mall this
scalding dog day afternoon in August
is a turbulence of birds—sparrows—
blowing in between cars to nail a crust
of bagel baking in the parking lot.
Mean scrappers sporting camouflage,
the birds rake crumbs around the Jaguar
with its silver cat leaping into the waves—
beside the Escalade with its tinted glass
and running boards—perfect for diving off
and into the last leftovers of summer—
under the red Hummer anchored tight
to my wagon—its armored plate daring
me to make a dent. Easing my door
open, I aim my baguette in their direction:
We’re all in this together, little warriors,
I say, as I squeeze my ass into the hot seat.
Steel shimmers over the feisty flock—
door locks pop like magic—shoppers wade
out to their floating boats mopping their brows.
I turn the key and the sparrows scram for cover.
The whole world you’ve got—and you choose this lot?
Breaking bread, I toss them little chunks as I back up.
– John Perrault
Included in:
The 2008 Poets’ Guide to New Hampshire
edited by John-Michael Albert
Poetry Society of New Hampshire
© 2008
jbf@fergus.com
Revised 4/16/2008