i dream of pigeons

Corey Ginsberg
Beaver’s Pick


when all else fails.
A simple, deviant pleasure
for those of us who can’t stomach
doves and swans.

The scene changes
but the bird is always the same.
Pigeons on the beach
and in the park.
Perched on windowpanes,
watching the world unwind beneath them
with their beady red eyes.

The flapping of wings carries me
to a deeper level of sleep
where the line between pigeon
and dreamer melts.

I find myself pecking through
garbage and medical waste,
exploring sticky spots on the sidewalk,
and gracefully digesting society’s ugliness
until I choke and can swallow no more.

But my gift will go unappreciated.
My gristly wings will be forced to cover
my blank stare until I find myself miles away,
in a different form, but with the same red eyes.

Once again I am the dreamer,
and I dream of pigeons.

Rats with wings.
The flying plague
High in cholesterol.
I feed them bread from a white bag.

A safe fallback
in a world of insanity
and pretty things.

Just the flap flap peck ququququ
waddle waddle waddle.
Dirty, vile birds
whose existence is the only
truth I’ll claim to know.

pencil

Corey Ginsberg is a recent graduate of Carnegie Mellon University, where she studied Creative Writing and Philosophy. She currently resides in Pittsburgh, and is getting her master’s degree in Professional Writing. In addition to her classroom work, she also serves as a poetry editor at the Carnegie Mellon Press. Her favorite writer is Kurt Vonnegut. She has never before been published. E-mail: corey[at]andrew.cmu.edu.

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