The Pigeon

Those fleas that escaped

earth and fire

died by the cold -- William Carlos Williams

There lay a dead bird on the concrete,

A measly pigeon

But it still counted.

She watched, the cold of the air in her eyes

And on the tips of her fingers

And scalp.

Someone was near her,

Had always been near her but faded into the walls.

No one dared to touch the pigeon –

To check for signs of breath,

To save its life or to call it an Equal.

It?

Why, did I just have the thought of a hypocrite? She wondered

And so she went to touch him to be sure

While someone near her groaned

And faded deeper still into the wall.

Surely, he was dead,

And perhaps his family would never know –

And he had died alone with no one

To mourn him.