the tilt of my head
the swell of my breast
the flirt of my tail
are desirable to the males
who puff out their throats
till their green neck feathers
almost flash with light
and strut and burble after me so comically
that I throw them off
without a backward look
but they do not hold it against me
because I am a magnificent specimen
of pigeonhood
instead they strut and burble once again
and once in a while I allow one or the other to mount me
it's only for a few seconds after all
and then I fly into the shallow pool
on a nearby balcony
and beat my wings against the water
until shining drops fly up
and for a moment I am like a nestling
who has never seen water
broken and thrown into the air
and then I give a big shudder
to expand the spaces between my feathers
and I am filled with coolness and pleasure
until I sleek myself back to my own shape
and the males enlarge themselves and strut
as if it were a new thing in the world
but I don't mind because
what more is there to life
after all
------------------
Bhashwati, Ph.D. wrote:
What a juxtaposition of a minimalist composition against a nice fleshy text not dissimilar from the puffed up chests of the male pigeons.
I am most impressed.
The words are feather light, fluffy and funny, indulgent and generous.
Magnificent specimen of descriptive matter of fact hood.
Both thumbs up.
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