The Drunk And The Pigeon Poem by Not Long Left

He toasts the waking day with
a settling slurp, rolls a ciggarette
as shaking hands slow to a gentle
tremble.
He sparks up, coughs and lets
out a smoke cloud sigh.
Beside his feat are pigeons
he allows them safe passage
to scavenge around his feet.
watching them as they nip at
the floor, they are tamed by
the loneliest of men.
It is clear he likes these birds
they are not arrogant.
like him they make the most
of their means.
He sings a song I do not know
and they sing back a song
only they know.
A lonely choir of outcasts
singing free in the sun
serenading the passer by
who look, shudder and move on.
His hair is wild, an overgrown
garden that dances wildy in the breeze.
Feathers oily black and matted, flap
in a frenzy when a car comes to close.
A child breaks free of its mothers grasp
and charges at the pigeons
they do not move
The child sulks,
The mother shouts
and the drunk laughs
She ushers her child away
The pigeons resume their nipping
The drunk continues his drinking
and morning moves into afternoon.