Withered lettuce leaves droop inside the stale sandwich,
corners curled,
catching the eye of a pair of sparrows
tails twitching,
assured they swoop down.
It’s lighting up time for the lamps in the park.
Raising their heads from time to time as they feast
one sparrow gets insistent it deserves more than the other
pressing its beak harder into the bread.
fighting starts,
a dozing tramp looks up,
the soles of his shoes on their last lap,
his face a monument to time gone by,
composed
yet trance like
as he bypasses the fighting sparrows
looking across the rooftops as if remembering.
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