Fat Man on a Bench
that shirt
probably fit him
once
but not today
the cool breeze
slapping through the treetops
says hello
to his bare, bulbous belly
(but there is no answer)
he is busy eating a polish sausage
these sounds with every bite: labored breaths through narrow nasal passages, wax paper crinkling beneath pudgy fingertips, wings fluttering as attentive pigeons jockey for position (should some small morsel fall)
and then one does
the slippery slice of onion slides off his sausage, and drops straight onto his stomach
this, he notices
and as quickly as it fell, he scoops it up slurps it down and catches me staring at him
his revenge is swift: two hands encircle his shiny, oil-stained navel, one quick shake in my direction and he returns to his meal
he’s shown me his belly bagel
and deep down, i know i deserve it
he is busy eating a polish sausage
these sounds with every bite: labored breaths through narrow nasal passages, wax paper crinkling beneath pudgy fingertips, wings fluttering as attentive pigeons jockey for position (should some small morsel fall)
and then one does
the slippery slice of onion slides off his sausage, and drops straight onto his stomach
this, he notices
and as quickly as it fell, he scoops it up slurps it down and catches me staring at him
his revenge is swift: two hands encircle his shiny, oil-stained navel, one quick shake in my direction and he returns to his meal
he’s shown me his belly bagel
and deep down, i know i deserve it
