It’s getting cold, and it’s raining again, and the one-legged pigeon is stood like a moody hiss on the gutter, staring in the frosty window at me as I crunch on toasted raisin bread. This bread’s been in the freezer for about a year, about the same time as when I named that pigeon Capt Ahab, not because it’s one-legged, but because it’s always searching around in the water and pronging rotting debris with its beak. It’s surprising what Ahab dishes up from the stagnate depths of guttural gravy. And any water will do – the birdbath, the gutter, the waterbutt, a watering can, a puddle. I saw him wading around in the fishpond last summer. I reckon Capt Ahab wants to be duck. I bite the last bit of toast, lick a trickle of butter off my thumb, and add raisin bread to the shopping list. I wonder if Captain Ahab is a lady pigeon…who likes a bit of it on a Sunday afternoon.
Written for Linda Hill’s Stream of Consciousness Saturday “wild animal”. AI Digital Artwork is created using Midjourney. Imagery and poems ©Misky 2023 Shared on Twitter #amwriting @midjourney
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