What Is There To Like About Pigeons

They land like a Berlioz mono-winger

on a bumpy field.  When they walk they

look like a fat bodied, beady-eyed Southern

warden who says, “What we got here is

a failure to communicate.”  And their nests

which I am always raking out of my

low-hanging eaves look like Christ’s

own wreath of thorns.

What is there to like about pigeons?

There just ugly birds, except this morning

I caught a look of myself passing in a mirror

and the balding old man with bad teeth and

a prodigious wart near a dimple scared

the be Jesus out of me.

FG           11/4/2015 

A year ago, I posted a poem called Home (9/28/2014) about the empty house the pigeons used for their abode being torn down.  Well, these birds haven't gone away - they're still here.  And they're trying to nest  and befoul the walks below my eaves.