A multi-colored pigeon
filthy and ragged
as the interior
of an old metal trash can
flutters effortlessly
about the breakwater
the milling sunlit tourists
loose a cascading shower of crumbs.
Pigeon lifts his arms
and moves away
when his cockeyed startled side-glance
sees the indistinct silhouette
of approaching danger
He has about him the look
of a living thing
teeming with disease,
a pandemic vector
to whom God has given
the gift of flight
Good idea -
these jewels of His creation
are plague magnets.
Let's stick wings on
and see what happens

The feathers on this specimen
are sickness-stiffened.
He flies hither and to,
inhabits the vast spaces
of our blue cathedral.
When he comes to ground
he cants his face
sees something
and lashes at the sidewalk,
strikes like a maddened, staring idiot
at a black raised splotch
on the cement. He's eating
I guess; my staring
makes him defiant.

'I am naked, filthy.
more prey than predator,
unless my own prey be this
ancient wad of gum I am obliged
to labor over
with you big shots watching.'
After every strike he looks at me
with crazy umbrage eyes
as if to say 'What!' What!' What!'
or 'So what!'
Very defensive, this one
Spinning, toiling, glaring
the effect is
slam! 'What!' slam-slam! 'What!'.
Nothin', that's what
you idiot bird slash miracle
stop looking at me
between mouth slams
I'm not vying for your raised spot
of blackened gunk
nor judging your frankly
embarrassing lot
in the present realm; woops.

you can fly
enjoy that with my blessing
we top the food chain
and, yes, are tied to a chair
with the surly bonds
that pilot wrote about
bound to the Earth
and in thrall to your buoyant
brushes with Heaven
God has made you
the venerable center
of our sleeping lusts,
flight the ongoing winner,
100 eons at Number One
in the Twitching Soma Hit Parade
I will, though, forgo the gift of flight
if I may also forgo the need
to nourish myself
by slamming my mouth against
filthy concrete.