The Halt and the Lame

Some old guy on a park bench looks like Jesus, if Jesus had lived to be some old guy. I'm old, not really, really old but I look older than that guy on the bench. From his coat pocket he scatters crumbs among the pigeons. The birds are diseased, they got warty stumps for legs. I know what stumps look like; seen way too many. He looks at me and winks. I don't think he's gay; don't care anyway. I think he can read my mind, because he just laughs and laughs as if I had just told the best damn joke ever. The pigeons rise up and fly away. It's a beautiful sight, sunlight speaks through their wing feathers. Every one of them sick birds is beautiful. I’m so caught-up in the moment I forget about disease or stumps. I still don’t get the joke - never will, I guess.