Walking the Hedge

And so here I sit

An upturned bucket

For a seat

At long last the wind has died down

And my flower sales pick up for a bit

The cellophane rustles in the breeze

I gaze up at the pigeons

Perching above me

And wonder

How long will it take

For cellophane

To become dirt again?

The wind tears flower petals free

To flutter away in the current

Above me six pigeons roost

Upon a telephone wire

They act as audience

To my sales of Easter bouquets

I wonder what the pigeons might think

Of selling flowers for a holiday

I don’t celebrate?

I check my watch yet again

To see if it is time to quit

Then sit back down upon

My upturned bucket

To watch and wait

In the company of pigeons

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