On Recalling A Pigeon With A Torn Wing

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We stopped and stared – young and old,

city shark and office cleaner,

the sensitive and the usually oblivious -

each hoping we might fix this small

and broken fearful bundle

hopping madly through the crowds,

its frailty and incompleteness

drawing out our wishes

for a healing or the serendipitous.

We walked on by – rich and poor,

business sort and volunteer,

the parent and the usually compassionate -

each hoping to forget the tall

but broken fearful bundle

huddled in the doorway,

his frailty and incompleteness

authored by a sad misfortune

or, uncomfortably, by chance and us.

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