Trash in the street on the way back from lunch
Nine dollar fish tacos digesting above the
Rumpled plastic, matted paper, flattened metal
Shards of glass and broken car parts
Under my sandals piercing the soul
Little pieces fly in the wake of each step
Into the flesh of the foot
Chain link stuffed with dying weeds
Woven with unidentified litter
It’s a sunny, blue sky day
Warm wind against the potato chip bag
Dancing on the fence
A man with no shirt and missing teeth
Walks past over the mounding pattern
Of pigeon shit, called guano in the wild
On the sidewalk under the freeway overpass
He carries a fishing pole and a keyboard
He walks resolutely carrying
Bait for inspiration
I wonder on my way back to the office
Working on something important
looking desperately
For a fishing pole and a keyboard
Are we fishing the same hole?