Stupid Grit

Day four of no nicotine. I am vibrating

on the curb, watching the sidewalk grit.

A bird with two toes on its left foot

hits the plate glass window with a dull thud.

It doesn't die. It doesn't even look surprised.

It just shakes its head and starts pecking

at a red gum wrapper near my boot.

Click. Click. Click.

The dry sound of its beak against a soda can

makes me want to scream or go buy a pack.

It’s just looking for a crumb in the metal,

refusing to admit the glass was ever there.