Why does the bread man come with his red-gloved hand to feed the birds?

Why does he reach up, out of sight, to line our garden wall with crumbs?

Perhaps this act of kindness brings small joy. Perhaps he sees himself as pigeon,

wishes to be fed. Perhaps the bread is just an excuse to linger

 

map the entries, plan a climb onto the barbecue, then the outdoor toilet,

then the first story roof. Perhaps he’s already brought tools to jimmy open

our bedroom window where he’ll find us - shout Get up! Get up! - then drag

our bodies from bed, stuff our mouths with bread until we’re fat as doves.

 

Perhaps later he’ll apologize, so taken with our tenderness.

 

Perhaps each crumb brought

is just a tiny wish for  

unflappable love.