I’ve been wondering why the homeless have such a penchant for feeding the pigeons in the city. One day I saw a big bag left on the sidewalk, the kind of bag the shelter gets filled with bread donations. Aha, Dr. Watson, someone has been feeding pigeons with shelter bread.
Penelope the Pigeon God
Even the Mayor had her number
This enemy of the city
This corruptor of the alleyways.
A long history,
The signs!
Don’t feed the pigeons
Under statute number
117c(547p, amended)
The police patrol
Couldn’t catch her in the act
And the remains were everywhere
Because they didn’t give the birds
Unstructured time to eat.
Where does she get all that bread,
The Mayor said.
Detectives were directed.
Forensic evidence,
Showed donated homeless shelter bread
They said, She’s stealing
From the Homeless Shelter
Sirens to the shelter came
Fred, the Homeless Shelter
Inside man said,
No, she’s living here
It’s her bread, said Fred
The sirens swooped
The mayor had his (old wo-) man!
Bright lights, hot beams
Her diminutive form
Took up half the interrogation chair
Hands folded in her lap
And then, the confession,
Of Penelope the pigeon god
“The birds love me,
To them I am like God,
They come at my coo and call
That makes me feel better,
To be on top for once,
And so, I feed them.
What kind of a God is she
Who doesn’t answer pigeon pleas?
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