PIFFLE ABOUT PIGEONS-Parts 1 &2

 

PART 1

Pigeon on the garden path

Looks like it’s experiencing.

Existential doubt.

Walks about aimlessly,

Puffing out it’s splendid iridescent neck feathers,

Whilst bobbing its head.

The other members of the flock

Are busy eating up the birdseed,

Dislodged by parakeets and starlings,

From the feeders on the tree.

 

But this pigeon wanders about

Separately, seemingly perplexed.

Maybe it’s just well-fed,

Maybe it’s bonkers,

Maybe it’s the reincarnation of Immanuel Kant,

Wondering why it’s in a suburban garden.

 

PART 2

I write piffle about pigeons,

Whilst the world falls apart.

I get old and self-centred,

As this planet starts to cook

And.an internet of liars,

Has most of us hooked.

Slime oozes out of my laptop screen,

But I have a pair of

Heavy duty zircon-encrusted tweezers

To keep my braincells clean

And I adeptly use those

To pull spores of capitalist propaganda

Out through my nose

They squirm and squawk shrilly,

About freedom and enterprise

Offering that stuff I don’t need,

But that I could borrow to buy.

So, I take my tweezers,

And drop the spores 

Into the waters of my porcelain throne.

I press the handle and wash them down

Naively believing that they’ve gone,

But they will reproduce themselves,

Deep down on the ocean floor?

Or am I deluding myself

Into blaming capitalism on spores?

When, all along the slimy things

That I extracted with tweezers

Were integral parts of my own greedy brain,

Not alien beings or diseases.

So once these dangerous cells

Are removed and flushed down the drain.

I can aimlessly go back

To aimlessly watching

Aimless pigeons again.