The Pigeon

At two, Bartholomew’s bakery opens

With his burly hands he motions

His innumerable patrons inside

Many thus far have since complied

Each day a flock of pigeons fly by

Flying low in the disconsolate sky

Hoping to find loose grains

However most crumbs fall down the drains

Unperturbed however, many land on the street

Content with the morsels at the people’s feet

All but one

“I’m done”

He says to the other pigeons

“I’m done with the insignificant smidgens

I know if I tried, I can get a better reward”

“What are you going to do,” the others implored

“I’m going in the bakery to get the bread within”

“You cannot! He’ll turn you into animal skin”

“Fear not, for I have the will of a tiger!”

Unsure, mind sounding like geiger

He flies full speed at the bread

Thud

Falling confused, he looks at the bread with a tear of red

“What happened? Did my wings stop working?”

Desperate, he flies again

Thump

“Why?”

“Why?”

“I know I can reach my goal”

“I know I can”

Thump

Thud 

Clunk

Clonk

Feeling a pit deeper than a black hole

He cries in desperation and despair 

Screech screech

He can’t stop crying 

He can’t stop flying

With eyes of frustration and borderline hatred

He can’t let go of the image of bread

In all of the commotion he wakes up an alley cat around the corner 

Unbeknownst to the pigeon of course

Who was still in a stir

At that, the cat lounges and catches the pigeon mid flight 

And begins to devour the pigeon and his dreams

The last thing the pigeon sees

Is bread

The last thing on the pigeon’s mind

Bread