Feasting on Whatever

This stretch of Brown Street is void
of amenities―pubs and restaurants;

citizens survive by traveling
elsewhere for nourishment.

Meanwhile i walk here calmly,
viewing churches and warehouses and locked homes,

brushing dust from the seat of my pants
and wondering when and where

to seek the next glass of wine.
Still i linger, weary and thirsty,

as clusters of white clouds
settle over white pavement.

Soon enough i’ll head for some café,
but for the moment i’ll feast on whatever

Brown Street offers:  weed lot,
block glass windows of CAVIAR ASSOULINE,

AVAILABLE signs, the staff of life.