It’s because I keep pulling the saddest detritus out of the world’s hand,
like this pigeon who doesn’t know he should fly to Orlando; the coffee
shop kids have named him Fredrick; he squinches his head into his shoulder
looking like a millennial huddled beneath the outdoor table, rainbow tattoo
looking like a millennial huddled beneath the outdoor table, rainbow tattoo
of feathers, iridescent, nonchalant. He’s really an attractive bird, but too young
for me. The band on his leg announces he already has an owner anyway.
for me. The band on his leg announces he already has an owner anyway.
