She comes here every day, so she does
Wearing her duffle, carrying a bag of food
for the swans and ducks.
Is she fucking blind? I’m starving.
I see how annoyed she gets when me and my pals
try to get some of that delicious feed that she throws
liberally at the other birds. We matter too.
I mean, she believes in God and creation,
and we’re part of that, for a reason.
I know I don’t have fancy markings, or
waddle about to her amusement.
It’s hard being a pigeon in this park
with all this wildlife, even rats.
As I coo away, she ignores me;
what a bitch she is!
She knows that her gran got eggs
during the war from my ancestors.
Because of pigeons, her dad ate well.
How quickly people forget what us pigeons
did in the fight against fascism,
taking messages to the battle front, risking our lives.
And for what? To be called hawkers
and have our necks wrung if we are too many?
I don’t believe it! She’s noticed us, hand in bag.
At last, she’s throwing food our way.
I’ll live to see another day.