Pigeons slotted into holes
Some dark, a few are littered
Some lined with solemn sounds
Some with paintings abound
Einstein peers out from a book
In a distant little nest.
Shelley’s read out in sombre tones
In another humble abode.

The lines are drawn,
The fences raised
Choose your home
And you’re there to stay
They’ll know you by the number
That adorns the porch.
Options halved,
The niche carved,
So Jack is now a full-time joker
With no wisdom in his wine,
And Joe’s another grave bloke
His face missing laughter lines.
The stole mistaken for the robe
The profile guessed to be the whole.

Hey little pigeon,
Fated to live life
Locked in the same barrel.
Once you’re in one,
They won’t want to see you
cooing out from another window
And they’ve never seen
The bright colours beneath your wing
For pigeons aren’t birds of spring.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s