THE DUCK LADY OF CENTER CITY PHILADELPHIA

She clings to her bags of rags

as she waddles

through the smelly-haze of another late

rush-hour hustle.

She wears a long-sleeved, long white dress

stained and feathered

with dirty layers of colored sweaters

safe on her body.

The herd of suits, silk ties,

leather shoes and designer attire steer

around invisible boundaries

that define her space.

She quacks at the passersby --

quack quack

fuck off goodbye

and delights with her chomp

into scraps of franks and fries

snatched in a flash from a curbside

gift of some kid's discarded lunch.

Shadows grow as the day's glow greets

the evening's neon lights

as she hauls her day's booty to her secret nest -

an abandoned piano box seated in perfect fit

over a warm subway vent.