The pigeons chose to go mute to be with us.
They lost the chortle overnight upon learning
we could abide their presence
but not that obscene, infernal cooing.
The where we were!
The time you stayed out overnight.
I made myself sick to imagine where you were.
Why settle for less—unless you mean cooing…
Say your wife is a pigeon and she flies away.
Doesn’t come back until just before night.
That’s it.
That’s what you get.
That’s what
she leaves you.
That’s what she leaves
you.
Spend the night…
Spend the night tracking her
wandering through a hail of maple leaves
in your dreamy birdbrain unconscious…
Maybe you wait around thinking
she’s just gone. Be gone
maybe an hour or two.
She can’t tell you—you pigeons!
Spruce up the nest.
Maybe fly around in circles with the others.
Maybe make love when she returns.
Then you’ll know.
You know your wife.
Your beautiful wife.
Maybe she’ll fly off again tomorrow
just after night leaves the sky.
