The Pigeons

The pigeons bob their heads and strut And pause to do some pecking. Their throaty conversations Interfere not with their trekking. A sudden startle sets them With a flutter in the air. Ten seconds later they alight, Unbothered by the scare. Their iridescent necks dig deep Into their feathers, scratching, Perhaps to loosen bugs which likely Might have been attaching. The sparrow and the grackles Let the pigeons do their thing And neither seem to notice When the other group takes wing. Although they’re nicknamed “rats with wings” (An epithet quite mean), The pigeons certainly belong As part of New York’s scene.