Dear Reader,
This past Monday I found myself in Boston’s South Station waiting for the 11:16 AM North Eastern Regional Train to Washington. With time to kill and nothing to do I pulled out my notebook and began scribbling lines in hopes to find a poem.
Nothing was coming.
I chalked it up to a long weekend and reached for my bag to put my notebook away.
That’s when I saw them, a group of black-mottled pigeons, milling about the passenger lobby.
They were oddly comfortable amongst the hustle and bustle of the noonday travelers, as if they were travelers themselves, waiting patiently for their train to pull into the station.
Before I could jot anything down my train was ready to leave. I put my notebook away and for a moment forget the odd picture of pigeons looking up at the departure board.
But as we cut through Connecticut the image came back to me and with nothing to do and nowhere to go I pulled out my notebook and composed the following poem.
Enjoy!
PIGEONS IN SOUTH STATION
I wonder where there headed.
Waddling about the station
Like businessmen
(self-absorbed and oblivious),
Avoiding the gaze
Of the station manager,
who upon noticing their grey-black backs,
Shoos them towards the door
As if they didn't have
Places to go and people to see;
Milling about the baggage claim,
Civilized and wild.
Looking altogether human
While waiting for the train.
Recent Publications:
I recently had the opportunity to read some poetry alongside some amazing poets for the Wild Roof Journal. You can listen to the reading via Spotify or watch it here via Youtube.