Street Feathers

The oil slick sheen on its neck,

just for a second, caught the sun

between two parked cars.

It pecked at a gum wrapper,

a crinkled foil star,

then decided against it.

Lifted its head, a small, knowing jerk,

and strutted past the rush of legs,

untouched, unhurried,.

Like it owned the whole cracked sidewalk,

this particular patch of exhaust and grit.

Some kind of stubborn, soft-boned king.