There’s a pigeon by the pillars

Pecking back at what I throw

And yet, he knows not of my debt

While bobbing to my dough

I’m Giuseppe at the Getty

And I haven’t got a dime

Just one beat case

And weathered face

To show for tickin’ time

There’s a woman in the garden

With a crown of cracking corn

Smiling wide for all the glass-eyed guests

Who treat her reign with scorn

I’m Giuseppe at the Getty

And this is what I see:

A world that don’t know down from up

And pays to pass what’s free

There’s a couple snapping pictures

With a lens above loose bread

Communing over comments

As they break a different thread

I’m Giuseppe at the Getty

And as each day goes by,

I see a little more of man

And wonder, “Does he cry?”

As I wander past these hallowed halls,

I turn and catch my face,

In the sidewalk chalk where clouded pools

Still sound of heaven’s grace

I’m Giuseppe at the Getty

And I bloom where I am thrown-

In a land, where buds still spar with weeds

To sing of what is sown

-Amy Struthers