nobody here but us chickens

The chickens in the parking lot

pick through last night's crumbs.

The maintenance man in the maintenance van,

full of mops and rags, stops for his 6:00 am coffee

at the 24-hour fast food joint at the parking lot exit.

The girl with the tattooed tear working the counter

gives him a weary smile, two quarters and a dime.

A one-legged man in long black coat, standing outside the door,

leans on his crutch smoking a beggared benson & hedges.

He scratches at the scab that peeks through a hole

in the finger of his woolen mitten.

The man from the van gives the one-legged man

the dime and the quarters. Says see you tomorrow.

The chickens finish the last of the crumbs and hop

from the pavement into the raggedy ivy-filled

parking lot median island.

The counter girl, now through with her shift, heads

out the door with two white paper bags, gives one

to the black-coated man and climbs into her Civic.

The starter moans for a moment and dies,

she sighs, -shit not again, and leans her head

on the wheel pressing the horn which emits

a slow feeble squawk which scatters the chickens.

The man in the maintenance van pulls up along side,

rolls down the window and says, need a jump?

Yeah thanks, if it's not too much trouble.

No problem, it'll just take a sec, go ahead and pop

the hood while I get the cables.

The Civic briefly complains then catches and growls

through the huge muffler her ex had installed to be cool.

All set? You might need a new battery or it could be

something else, I could check it tomorrow if you want,

I'll bring my tester and tools.

You sure? I'll treat you. Anything on the menu you want.

That's a deal. See you tomorrow, drive careful, you hear?

The man in the van follows her Civic to the stoplight

where she makes a left and he makes a right.

The chickens watch them leave and go back

to their scratching. The one-legged man makes

a new sign for the day on a scrap of cardboard:

Nobody here but us chickens

-and I could use some scratch.