Marchell Dyon

A pair of pigeons roost together
One black, one brown, on the wooden panel
That arches between my tarred roof and my back porch door.

Instinctively, I am scared and then at awe.
Their red brown eyes pierce into me, almost a hypnotic stare.
Their eyes clawed at something deep within.

They make me remember
My Zen like purpose to find beauty in all things.

I´m a hardened city girl, I live in the concrete.
Never do I look to nature for poetry.
So, here I stood resisting the urge to knit them a sweater.

No one could say I was ever the athletic sort
With broom in hand like a batter at home plate
I want only to shoo them away

I called out with my meanest yawp, for them to wing it.
I swung surely a home run, nothing happens.

They are determined to stay right here.
They came in from the cold to build their nest for winter.
They stand firm hardened city creatures transfixed on his hamlet

Between the wooden panel
My tarred roof and my back porch door.
I swat at them again it would take a miracle.

It will take more than me
who am I to make them move.