Inescapable Lure of the Rabbit Hole

<p>THE DUCK LADY OF CENTER CITY PHILADELPHIA </p><p><br></p><p>She clings to her bags of rags</p><p>as she waddles</p><p>through the smelly-haze of another late </p><p>rush-hour hustle.</p><p> </p><p>She wears a long-sleeved long white dress</p><p>stained and feathered</p><p>with dirty layers of colored sweaters</p><p>safe on her body.</p><p><br></p><p>The herd of suits silk ties </p><p>leather shoes and designer attire steer </p><p>around invisible boundaries</p><p>that define her space. </p><p> </p><p>She quacks at the passersby -- </p><p>quack quack</p><p>fuck off goodbye</p><p><br></p><p>and delights with her chomp </p><p>into scraps of franks and fries</p><p>snatched in a flash from a curbside</p><p>gift of some kid's discarded lunch. </p><p><br></p><p>Shadows grow as the day's glow greets </p><p>the evening's neon lights </p><p>as she hauls her day's booty to her secret nest - </p><p><br></p><p>an abandoned piano box seated in perfect fit </p><p>over a warm subway vent.</p><p><br></p>