Pigeon poem

as I was searching

for something to write about

a pigeon landed on the table beside me

pecking at whatever he deemed

to be grub

a small white speck of who knows what (probably a peice of plastic)

gets spit back out

then a grain of sand

then back to the plastic

then back to the grain

one more time to the speck of plastic

a hobble towards me

then back away

and back again

then to the next table

as he flew away

I realized that we weren’t so different him and I

pecking at things we don't understand

again and again

and again

until we realize we can't find anything useful

to consume

to write about