Pigeons
In a parking garage—
I want to know each
And every name.
They'll never know mine
And they don't care.
I'm just another shape
That moves in their way.
They wait for food scraps
But I have none to give.
What use am I?
They build nests in their
Concrete home; bobbing
Their heads when cars
Speed by and more boring
Shapes emerge, unwilling
To pay them any mind.
They coo, strutting
Carelessly as strangers
Disturb the city life
They never asked for.