Daniel Thomas ~ Poet

 

WITHOUT  THE  MOCKINGBIRD

 

 

Each day I work in a downtown

office, where spiky balls,

like porcupine quills, are mounted

 

along window ledges to prevent

pigeons from building their white

excrement-encrusted nests.

 

Sometimes, laid in an opening

where spikes have broken or bent,

I see their eggs, neither innocent

 

nor beautiful, but necessary to perpetuate

a waddling stiff-necked grandeur

among soot and shit and purple feathers,

 

high above sidewalks and cardboard beds

and office workers, neither innocent

nor beautiful, but necessary to perpetuate

 

the same fleeting grandeur--

all of which is not to dismiss

the soul’s mystery in the material world.

 

 

 

 
POEMS
 
WITHOUT THE MOCKINGBIRD

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