Eleanor Vance's Pigeons

The bus was late. Always is.

I sat, just to sit, on the wood.

My eye caught the brass plate, its

green-tinged letters, not quite understood.

Eleanor Vance. 1932-2005.

She loved pigeons.

A small fact. To outlive

her. These birds, still picking crumbs.

I watched them, bobbing, their heads

jerking. Did she feed them?

Were these her pigeons, fed

from her hand, their small greed?

The plaque, so permanent. A lie,

almost. It will wear down, like she

did. Or did not. I wonder why

the pigeons don't sit still for me.