Pigeon

I have lived amongst pigeons for all my existence Yet only twice has a pigeon ever inspired me to write

There was a pigeon limping through Liverpool Street station Without a care for anyone And then the beige pigeon outside King’s Cross Train pigeons are more cultured than the rest Anyway

She was a burnt pink beige that faded into white Her feathers were that of colours I had dreamt of in southern European cities Faded rusty clay walls warmed by the summer heat Clay pots waiting to be glazed Fingerprints after being dabbed with face makeup

A pigeon brought more inspiration to me than anyone standing on the train platform