There—in the very
last light
of the waining weekend—
old loaves
of restaurant bread—
each of them
chunked and quite
green and
blue mold-rife—now populating each
broad quiet
square of cold sidewalk—look perfect-
ly alright with—not
to mention
well suited
to—their
vague cortege
of attendant
penicillin-
colored pigeons.
