Christine Phillips | + Follow Poet |
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The Lonely Little Pigeon

I am sitting on the park bench waiting for a friend
I am sitting on the park bench wondering 
When it is going to end
Chirping birds flying from tree to tree
 Dancing to their predicted destiny 
Cars and trucks rumbling up and down the town
And a strange music is playing gingerly around 
Little children climbed merrily up the slender palm tree
Giggling and crawling on their knees
chatter and laughter circulates the air 
Waiting for an answer from somewhere
I am sitting on the park bench
Wondering when it is going to end
I am sitting in the sweltering heat
Waiting for the journey to complete 
Only If I had a special place to go
I would have started the show
Me and you walking hand in hand
I would meet you half way
And take you to the promise land
No friends, no hen what then?
A whisper, a shout, what is this all about?
Young girls dancing to an unfamiliar rhythm
The music is tossing in one direction
and their bodies are tumbling  in another direction
I thought of packing a little bag 
And wander off in another land
Just as I have thought of it
Two handsome men came along
and sat on the bench next to me
They scrutinize every fellow in town
And observed everything around
They look more like the cops
Bad guys or undercover officers
I just could not figure them out
They looked at me occasionally
As if they knew me already
I asked a few question and I learned 
that they are from Colombia
and work in the restaurant in town
They watched the little boys
 running up and down the soccer field
and watched the young girls and woman’s butt
They were looking for a date but it was too late.
They bought Popsicle and
Gazed at the woman’s butt 
as she pushed the Popsicle cart along
The chirping birds sound is getting louder and louder
And the trees are over crowded
The birds are holding court 
And all the spectators begin to shout 
I am sitting on the park bench
waiting patiently for the conference call
I want to know when you are going to join me
So that we can go hiking and horseback riding
The sun is hot and my temperature is rising
Nothing about this moment is surprising 
Artificial soil, artificial ground 
Everywhere is dry and heaven is not listening to their cry
and I just can’t understand why
Nature is disappearing from town
And the palm trees are dilly dallying around
The leaves are hanging in the air
And the ground is hard and bare, 
the moisture has disappeared 
Where do I go from here?
As I was thinking about it a lonely pigeon
Walked under my feet telling me discreetly that
the task is complete.

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