Sky Rats by Elise Powers We carried them in our hands— tied letters of love and war to their paper pink ankles. They don’t know they’re unwanted, that they’ve become iridescent burdens burrowed in gutters we’ve lined with spikes just for them. They bob their heads, coo at the feet that kick them away, doing only as we taught them: return. And isn’t that the way of things? The heart loves to outlive its welcome, to circle the place it was last fed, to make a meal out of crumbs.
Perfect timing for this lovely poem as I've had pigeon justice on the brain lately.