Pigeon English

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.