The sheepdogs and I
were enjoying our evening stroll
on Ludlow Avenue.
As we neared the Clifton Plaza
I noticed a sixtysomething man
in a tan raincoat and plaid cap
tossing handfuls of sliced white bread
onto the pavement.
Duffy, he of the delicate innards,
snapped up a piece.
I grabbed for it but he was too quick.
I complained to the man,
“You’re throwing garbage on the sidewalk.”
The bread guy was taken aback.
“That’s not garbage,” he said indignantly,
"it’s food for the birds.”
Gritting my teeth,
I countered,
“Birds don’t like
whole slices of white bread.”
“Oh yes they do, yes they do.”
“Oh no they don’t, no they don’t.”
“You just wait and see,” he said.
We glared at one another.
Sensing an impasse,
I shook my head,
gave my foe my most fearsome stare,
and the sheepdogs and I
turned and headed for home.
I had trouble getting to sleep that night,
fretting about losing the quarrel.
However I never did see another
whole slice of white bread at the Plaza.
