Paul Handley

The pigeons on the
Encircling telephone wire
Outside the barred window
Are as resistant to attempts
To dislodge them with the
Beer can shells as I am
To decamp from my abode,
Despite a petition (less than
A bill of particulars) campaign
Among the starter house
Neighbors, which I suspect
Has led to the only nongang
Affiliated graffiti in the city
And devolved on the
Imagination scale in its
Declarations of “condemned”
And degenerate sexual inclinations.

Having only taken Psych 101,
I can still see Projection as
Clearly as a spotlight, shone
From decrepit basements with
Curtained off pleasure rooms,
Even if the light must angle
Off the mirrored shards of
Wind chimes, dangling from
The house catty-corner, that
Sparkle like icicles, coating
The tips of loose limbed
Branches, that the new
Gentry pass off as art.

My blighted pigeons have
Showed me how to sidestep
And feign obtuseness.
Nature’s Lessons always seem best.