THE PERSISTENCE OF RACE
The black man who dawn to dusk
sits on the nearest bench stops me today,
announcing: "that damned pigeon
just shat on my shoulder."
"Birds have no repect,"
I tell him, and he answers:
"I don't mind if a blackbird does it, it's
the pigeons bother me."
Discrimination transposed to birds.
On the walk in the woods behind him what remains
of a chickadee, gray and white,
and a single spot of red that the cat left
as if in thanks for the meal. And deeper in my neighbors
every day leave perfect roosters, bound with ribbons, as bribe
for power or love, and the homeless, always hungry,
leave them be.
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