The Pigeon Whisperer

When I’ve got cheese and pickle –

they know!

When I’ve got halfway through my pasty –

they know!

Salt and vinegar or cheese and onion –

they know!

And down they come from every roof top,

from every branch

from every tree,

from a clear and birdless sky –

down, down they come,

and in a grey gathering,

as quick as chips,

they are flustering around my feet.

But if you look

not down,

to where the pigeons

coo and hoot

in front of you,

but up,

up over the gutters

along the telegraph wires

through the windy alleys

by the side of the precinct

maybe you’ll catch a glimpse –

Can you see her

in her rosy grey cape?

No bigger than

a pigeon’s wing

she leaps and flies

whispering the news to all who can hear.

“Scoff,

grub,

mash,

gobble!” These are the only words she knows

but in many bird tongues

“Snack,

snap,

scran,

chow!”

Each hears the word it likes

and like a stone drops from its airy heights

to the soles of my feet,

to gaggle around in search of

a bite,

a crust,

a crumb,

a crisp,

a cracker,

a crunch,

a pick,

a peck,

a pickle,

a pepper,

a punch,

a sip,

a sup,

a snip

a supper

a lunch.

And when the peeking

pecking

crowd

have done

 source: http://nikitasmits.com/2012/12/11/new-york-city-pigeons/

and all the scraps

from all around

are gone,

they’ll fly to wait

up on the gables ends

and window sills

and roof ridges

and tree tip-tops

until her cry comes

over the tiles again.

“Nibble,

noodle,

cropper,

shopper,

fiddle,

fudge,

fedang!”

Me reading The Pigeon Whisperer