I called you fat.
I mean it in the nicest way possible.
Ample, snug and ready to hug.
You perched on the fence
Your claws facing out like a chubby ballerina
Ready to take flight.
The comforting sound of
‘Who who who’
More of a statement than a question.
That sound has followed me from country to country
From dense city to sparse landscape.
The universal language of Pigeon.
You’ve even made it to Hollywood.
You’ve done good friend. Well.
You don’t normally perch here though.
I haven’t seen you before.
And just as I am getting used to you
You take off with a :
‘Wisha wisha wisha’
I wish I could be you.