Lunch Break

A man in a suit paces by the Charles
in the summer. The water slower
than usual, lower in its bed. His face

has the vague look of a person walking fast
in no particular direction. Pausing,
the man looks down at the bank, and finds
the body of a drowned crow

in the river’s shallows, slick and dark
like a fresh heart. He looks up;
on the opposite bank, the generous leaves

of an oak tree wave in the sun,
offering some courtesy, or at least

the man receives it as such. He tugs
at his tie, and begins the walk back
towards where he came from,

shaking his head, thinking: nothing
has to change today, nothing has to change.