A woman at the corner of Avenue A and 12th street
Asked if I would mind feeding her pigeons while she went away on vacation.
I told her that I would feed her pigeons when they landed on my fire escape in Brooklyn.
She said no, those pigeons in Brooklyn aren’t my pigeons.
Feed them, I don’t care, but you’re not doing me any favors.
I fed them anyway.
The pigeons in Greenpoint, picking crumbs by the river
Flew away and spread the message
That there was plenty of bread to go around.
They knew what the old woman didn’t.
There are fences and there are clouds.
Only when flying is there enough sky.
Birds see it all, upside down.