THE OFFERING

He sat, silently smirking over
his cardboard cup of coffee,
leaning, to lap it like a cat.

Lips oiled and curved and bluish,
hands knotted with filth, he
stroked his pocket.

Like a child picking wildflowers -
he paid court to every set of eyes
in the busy hum of the fast-food
place.

He chose me and pinned me to
his moment in time.
Lascivious, leering, laughing,
he opened his pocket just for me.

A half-dead sparrow leaked
part way out and burred its
broken wing.

It sang as sweetly as if we were
in a glen, a meadow, a dale of
helitroping sunflowers.

Then he licked one lip and
ran his bony, bent finger down
the bird's spine, causing it
to flutter, as if some phantom
wind blew by...