She sits on a bench wearing a carved tree resin rose
black garbage bag filled with acorns,
eucalyptus leaves, her bandages of flesh.
Whatever she finds she stuffs into her hotch-potch pot,
plastic water bottles discarded after a three-mile run,
flyers from a flea market.
She conducts a crowd of seagulls
away from her foot’s lack of pedicure,
her big toe bulbous in sawed off shoes.
Night edges out day.
A grey sky changes ownership.
She pledges allegiance to come what may.