Missed Pigeon

Missed Pigeon

 

on a morning not unlike our own

I stepped on a platform of painted yellow stone

and by the carriage, that shouted and spat

I spied a pigeon, all hunched up, sat

 

with her beak just out from a feather boa plume

and tiny yellow eyes darted about for the doom

because it was obvious to us, that grey bird and I

that today was the day that this sweetheart would die

 

she cared nothing for the rushing of the balham commuters,

these suiters would rather boot 'er than suture whatever wound kept this feather'd sister mute there

there was nothing to be done! She just wouldn't move!

and these trains don't allow for those who don't groove

to the tune, hard and fast, urgent without delay

day after week

after day

after day

 

not a half beat to take a half seat, to take in the heat of this fully packed under-street

to be a people, complete

Because how the fuck am I meant to understand the man that sits across from me

To understand the pains that only he can see,

to understand what it takes to be a him, 

to be a me

to be a we

when I can't talk a minute without knowing that every second spent unworked is a waste

as far as my landlord is concerned

as far as my bosses are concerned

welcome to the working poor

welcome to resenting those around you who even have the power,

who even have the privilege

to beg

cos I don't

unless I want to do it full time

cos my mam's going through the same thing man and

I'm sorry

pretty little pigeon but

we don't have the time to spend

 

 

 

 

 

WRITTEN BY BEN WOODWARD

ILLUSTRATION BY BETHAN SCREEN