My Father Loved Pigeons

My father loved pigeons.

He kept them and bred them

Ever since he was a child.

He built his own cages

From wooden packing cases,

Black creosote poles

And silver wire mesh.

We always had a pigeon loft in our garden.

My father would spend hours

Sitting in a chair, smoking

And looking at his pigeons.

Then one day he gave away

All his precious pigeons until he was

The only pigeon left all alone.

He dismantled his loft

Dismembering plank and pole and wire.

Then he perched upon an apartment roof

And launched himself into wingless flight.

Weary from too much flying

He fixed his navigating heart

Upon the guiding stars

And let instinct and gravity

Take him home.