the old man’s pigeons

A Poem a Day in October 2016: #5

he said

you know
my breeding pair is getting older

not so long ago
they’d be in the nest at six weeks
to the day
and the last lot of chicks
would get ‘the shoulder’

they’re not so regular

there’ll only be one egg
and not a pair

but oh
they’re such a pretty bird
and I watch them

I could get lost
in the brilliance
of their snowy white
soft down


they have nothing in their enclosure
to make a nest out of
so I keep bucket beside me
when I prune the fruit trees
or clean the yard

small twigs
little branches
drifting straw

I cut them to the right size
for birds
then scatter a handful
across the floor I paved for them

so much joy
for me
when they gather
and build

whatever I throw
however much there is
every last twig
every straw
gets transformed into a home
for snowy down
and ugly chicks
with beaks too large for their heads
and prickled goose bump tufts
all over their skin

my birds
you know poem
are getting older now

I don’t think I’ll have them
much longer

© Frank Prem, 2016

Poem #6: tree poem

Photo: Leanne Murphy

4 thoughts on “the old man’s pigeons

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