It
cocked its head an impossible angle
and
cooed in response to my questions
with
its petite glistening winking eyes.
What
may I ask are you doing
in
the hot baking morning sun?
Have
you fallen from your nest
between
the AC and the wall?
Are
you sick or are you injured?
Or
are you exploring the morn?
I
wish I could decode your cooing.
The
hoot from my colleague’s car
jarred the mellow chitchat.
Unwillingly
I left her, unattended,
Harkening
to the call of my job.
Returning
late in the afternoon
I
searched in haste for my little pigeon
only
to find its wafer-thin body,
its
life sapped by the sizzling sun.
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