Birdcage

At 77th and 5th
I stop to take a picture with my barely functioning camera,
A building reflected in a puddle,
Taxi speeding by,
The park behind me,
Welcoming,
Leaves thinking of change.
Tired, I walk a few more blocks and
Rest on a green wood bench
Across from scaffolding,
Twins in a stroller,
A teen wearing a Kong is King shirt.
A woman walks past,
Then turns back and approaches me with concerned eyes,
Extending a dollar.
She says, Here you go.
I'm not homeless, I say.
She keeps the money out and stares at me hard.
You look like you could use it, she says.
I shake my head and simply say, No.
She shrugs, pockets the dollar, and walks away,
Leaving me to wonder who I am,
And thinking I should have taken the money and
Used it to line my birdcage.
Wait,
I don't have a bird.

© Poem Fix http://www.poemfix.com 2012
 Photo by Poem Fix