Sonnet for that pigeon

To try to describe what is so poetic about

This rat of the sky, this pest, this pathetic pantaloon of a bird

This greasy, gray and graceless goon, poised

perfectly in the light of some glorious midday sun

To try to describe what is so poignant about

This beaked beast, this slick-feathered beggar, this plain, pitiful pecker

Is to see him, in all his witless triumphance, at his platform post

as a passenger, a picknicker, a passive people watcher

of the commuting passerby’s

Who could learn a thing or two from this pesky pilgrim

Maybe it is to see him as a poet – a purveyor of passing trains

Of thought, pausing, pondering in the October J train air

Before continuing his arrythmic plod and peck

It’s all perspective, really