Pigeons in the City

The city wraps itself like a woolen cloak,

heavy in heat, bodies shuffle, barely notice

as gray feathers peck the sidewalk, unflinching—

a singular focus on what lies below,

each day a repeat, a rhythm of indifference.

I watch them sift through crumbs and care,

their cooing an odd comfort, harmonizing

with honking horns, a din of broken hearts,

while a stray feather catches in the gutter,

trembling slightly, a soft protest in the wind.