Poem: On recalling a pigeon with a torn wing

We stopped and stared – young and old,
city shark and office cleaner,
the sensitive and the usually oblivious –
each hoping we might fix this small
and broken fearful bundle
hopping madly through the crowds,
its frailty and incompleteness
drawing out our wishes
for a healing or the serendipitous.

We walked on by – rich and poor,
business sort and volunteer,
the parent and the usually compassionate –
each hoping to forget the tall
but broken fearful bundle
huddled in the doorway,
his frailty and incompleteness
authored by a sad misfortune
or, uncomfortably, by chance and us.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s