Watching Pigeons Make Love.

For four weeks now
He has sat on the
Same chair
In the same position-
Head held up by his hands.
Watching the pigeons
Make love on top
Of the broken lamppost.

After they fly away
He lowers his head
Sighs and speaks
To the empty scene
'My mother liked me
Watching too'
With that he sways
Back to his room
And waits for the black
Faceless ghosts to find
Their way through his wall.

by Not Long Left

Comments (2)

Spooky and strange...and all the more intriguing for it. New style you, Vincey. Fondlingly, sorry, FONDLY, Gina.: -)
This poem evokes a well-versed scene from a play by Samuel Beckett. I am charmed. Susie.