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.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem