Garibaldi in the Park

Garibaldi despises pigeons

rats with wings he calls them

       and what would you think of pests

       who dawdle, primp and poop

on your signature poncho in bronze?

Garibaldi no longer minds the tired joke

now told by twelvish girls

       that he always draws his sword

       whenever a virgin passes by

cute, he finds them, and disarming

Garibaldi has heard rumors:

after banishing buskers, canines, and chess

       a new Moses will flatten the arch 

       and pave-over the fountain

to make way for a bus terminal and heliport

Garibaldi has enjoyed it all:

militia musters, urban troubadours, beats

       the old paisano plucking his quiet mandolin

       up-scale bohemians, joggers, jazz fests

sweet toddlers splashing in their underpants

Garibaldi has a plan:

when the bulldozers come for him

       he will at long last 

       draw his doughty sword

to deliver one final clanging stroke

for the lackluster denizens of his park.