even the pigeons don’t go down there anymore my reflection in the buildings looks like a ghost the city killed the pigeons off put up spikes they just built nests in put up poison sent them flying in circles ‘til they got lost or dropped dead the city was tired of their crap cleaning it over and over the city hates its poor and everyone knows pigeons are poor man’s doves the city does not have doves the city announced last year it was time to start killing the geese they were becoming a nuisance so common so everywhere the city would rather have an ostrich or an emu a roadrunner but only if it owns a home I keep looking for the pigeons the lavender gray fringes the smoky white tufts the free -range yolky eyes watching back while they peck and gather and peck and gather no one else even notices they’re gone which, of course, feels like a test who else am I supposed to share these sideways glances with how else do you keep time how else do you know where you are if not for the birds singing you the chorus of a place showing you its colors saying yes, we see you, you are here and I am here I am I am I am I am I am I am I am
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