Pigeons In Trafalgar Square, London Poem by June Walker

Surprisingly warm, light and soft,
his body feather touches my cheek
as the city pigeon alights on my shoulder.
His claws and his strong gnarled toes
dig for a grip.
I hold up the white plastic cup
and his head goes
down up,
down up,
like a pneumatic drill, shuddering. Spilling seeds
fly out of the edges of the container,
but he is not distracted: peck,
peck, peck.
Head up, tail down;
head down, tail up. Comical,
like a plastic monkey
on a stick that you can buy at the fair,
and pull the string, to make it
somersault.