The Fieldstone Review

Pigeon on a London Street

The bobble-headed pigeons of London
saunter around because they own the place,
I shuffle out of the tube and stare wrinkle-eyed
as the collared shirts and pressed skirts
flowing around me fold their foreheads
at me, I see it, and know suddenly
that I am a child to them; as are
the children of London, I am fascinated
by the pigeons, imitating their pecking trot
without thinking. “Like a silly child, this foreigner”
say the eyes of this world city
and my colonial t-shirt gaze is ashamed
because there are no pigeon feet on cobblestone
in Saskatoon.