The Birdbath…
…is blue-glazed porcelain,
with a fat grey pigeon sitting in it.
He does not bathe.
He occupies.
Another pigeon arrives and stands on the rim,
waiting,
good manners to prevail.
They do not.
The grey pigeon sits.
So the newcomer pecks him on the head,
sends him flapping to the fence,
where he watches another pigeon arrive,
and observes
the rules of succession.
A peck on the head.
Another abdication.
Another flight to the fence.
The throne is empty.
The first pigeon returns.
He lowers himself into the water, settling deeper and deeper until there is almost nothing left of him but a lump of grey pudding in a dish of blue porcelain.
The others have gone.
Everywhere Poems don’t have a subject. They have a starting point and follow wherever attention leads. It’s — go for a walk and see where you end up.
My photo. Writing is my own original work also.©Misky 2006-2026.
Your comments are always welcome