Native vs. Native
When he reached the new jungle,
with its metal lions and their peculiar honking,
he cursed the lumberjack who shaved branches
off buildings, and his own feet, for all he could not climb.
When he cracked open a pigeon and ate
its wing, a cult of boys in black leather
bowed down, as two policeman carried him away
all wide-eyed and feather-mouthed.
When he took off his hat to pray
in the language of wolves
it was so beautiful that even the busiest men
placed dollar bills at his yellowing toes.
But he grew thirsty, and shook a cup at strangers
who offered him pennies. He ate every last one.
But finally, it was the umbrella-selling vendors,
the blatant disrespect for rain that did him in.
He laid across the steeple of a church
and splayed himself across New York
all guts and confetti. The tourists
cheered like the ball had dropped.