THE PIGEONS OF ST. VINCENT'S

On the playground
of St. Vincent's,
a flock of pigeons dwelled.
Their coop hung snug
along the playground's
red brick wall.


As a child
I'd watch them
from a nearby elm.
I reveled in their flair,
their festive air.

In their yard,
the keeper
from his pail
would scatter
streams of golden corn.
The birds, excited,
swarmed around him,
pecking at the fallen grain.

When filled,
the flock contented,
rose into the air,
then took off flying
high above our home:
forty to fifty pigeons,
circling and recircling,
circling and recircling,
from Bryden Road north
to East Main south,
soaring through
the sunlit air.

Finally descending,
swooping low,
their black shadows
moved swiftly
o'er the ground below,
until at last,
they fluttered to a landing,
on their coop
or
yard below.

Lively spirits,
drinkers of high air,
I too flew with them
through the air.

(October 28, l998)