Lisbon. A park.
The pigeons circling my crumbs.
Not a cloud in the sky, Portuguese spring.
My cafe com leche is strong and hot.
A comfortable breeze over my shoulder.
Only one other person out on the terrace,
staring at her laptop screen as I
tap tap on my phone.
Its a full stop of a day.
An end of the week kind of day.
A flying home soon kind of day.
I'm not a tourist and not a local.
I'm not anything in particular,
and barely visible.
Only the pigeons notice me.
Notice me and my crumbs.