I watched a pair of pigeons eat
A chicken drumstick fallen from a heaving bin
On the day we first met alone. I was in town. You were late.
The sky was dark and rippled like
Disturbed water. A lot like the subaqueous,
Oily intensity of your eyes. How strange. I was looking at this sky
To ignore, to fixate on something, anything, other than those pigeons. And still –
I watched them.

Being human I was compelled
To watch the destruction of another thing, of the birds' dumb innocence,
As they shared their meal bashful and tender as lovers,
So unaware of the ugliness of the act, the perversity, the cannibalism,
The murder of their almost-brother, their almost-souls, their
Almost-love. How could they not realise, not know, not see the familiarity?

I had, of course, put it down to the tiny, thick,
Clotted little pigeon brain, animal idiocy.

It's only now that I remember, as you came wandering over
That I turned immediately way.
That my fixation changed to a different source
Of destruction.