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.
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