The Sparrows

We wait for tickets on a bench, Free Shakespeare time, in Central Park. The local sparrows hope to wrench Some crumbs, so they are on their mark. The word gets out and so they flock, A grackle sometimes squeezing in, For they don’t need a watch or clock To know when snack time will begin. The pigeons, oddly, stay away, The sparrows having staked their claim, But in the park, on any day, All birds will eat (and we’re to blame). The humans and the birds both wait, Impatience knocking at the door, In hopes that soon upon our plate We’ll get what we are waiting for.