The One-Footed Scavenger

He hops on a stump where a foot used to be

fighting a bagel for the whole world

to see.

The rainbow on his neck is a trick of the oil

spilled out on the pavement from some engine's toil.

I step to the side but he doesn't move back,

he’s a grey little soldier

on a dirty stone track.

We're both just waiting for something to drop,

looking for a reason to finally stop.