Twenty-five pigeons were teetering
On a swinging jump rope,
Tails asynchronously bobbing.
Strange, these marbled pebbles,
Trained to fly in circles over the intersection,
Where I wait at red lights.
A cigarette is thrown out the window,
Orange sparks extinguished by a tire.
The sun sinks into the deep end.
Thoughts about us and the things that crush,
And the birds flew in the shape of infinity.
I wondered what it might be like…
© M. G. Iannucci 2016