LUNCHTIME

It must be noon.
The construction crew is doing their thing.
On the sidewalk,
their backs against the building,
their legs stretched out in front of them.
On each pair of legs,
a brown paper bag.
Burgers and fries, ham and cheese, jumbo drinks.
Nobody's eating salad
and I'll bet those aren't diet sodas.
These guys are hungry.
They are just too silly sitting there,
those un-pretty maidens all in a row,
with their big potbellies and
their big fat sandwiches,
the straps flapping on their metal hats.
They're so predictable.
When they eat.
What they eat.
What they say when you pass by.
As I watch them sitting in the city sun
on this bright hot summer day,
they seem so harmless.


© Ellen Azorin