Driving to yoga this morning, I saw
a flock of pigeons raveling & unraveling
above the palm trees. Our city’s poet laureate
writes about pigeons as avatars of love.
What did I see? Protein on the wing.
Our laureate compares feral pigeons
to street people, both declared unsanitary
urban pests, the birds’ bodies contaminated
by heavy metals but whose aren’t?
I want to be a good person, stop child abuse,
take back the night, march against hunger.
I’m ashamed I eat when I’m not hungry.
No more memes on Facebook, no more
feel-good marches, let’s learn to mend nets,
scald feathers, to gut & to spatchcock, let’s
deliver tons & tons of pigeon meat to shelters
& soup kitchens, saying, “Enjoy! It’s squab!”
Jefferson Carter has lived in Tucson since 1953. He volunteers with Sky Island Alliance, a locally based environmental group, and is also poetry editor for Zócalo magazine.