The birds who coo
I am purplish gray
with a fluttering wingspan.
with a fluttering wingspan.
My head bobs forward awkwardly
while my pale ash colored feet
clatter as does my gray beak
against the chipped gray
roof tiles. I rest on the roof's
summit. My head turns to
the right; it moves to the left. My caviar
hued eyes stare at, my voice responds
with my mate cooing on the top portion
of the cape cottage's gutter nearby.
A metal clasp is attached to his foot,
as one is secure around my right.
My mate and I are owned, but have
freedom to take to the endless sky.
We must take flight now. We have work
to do, messages to deliver, then journey home.
I am a homing pigeon. I live for destiny.
|
2
favs |
1458 views
5 comments |
122 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
This poem was inspired one day when I looked outside of my study's window and saw some pigeons walking on some neighbors' roofs.
Other stories by pam rosenblatt
Tags
Comments
You must
log in
to post comments.
Nice poem. As I read the first few lines, I thought it was birds in the wild. Then you surprised me with the homing pigeons. I like surprises.
Nice poem. As I read the first few lines, I thought it was birds in the wild. Then you surprised me with the homing pigeons. I like surprises.
Thank you, Matthew!
Good poem, loved the last line esp. Faved.
I am glad you enjoyed "The birds who coo" and appreciate the "Fav"! I look foward to reading some of your fiction.