Susan Moore: ‘Headless Pigeon’


Headless Pigeon

There’s a headless pigeon outside our house
Fluffed-up feathers round a tiny claw
And although this is a poem
It is not a metaphor.

But my God life can be cruel
It can fill my soul with dread
As I bury that poor pigeon
And wonder “where’s its head?”

Free as a bird, they say
But a bird’s life’s overrated
Look at this one in my garden
It’s been decapitated.

One thing about the birdies though
Of which they can give thanks
Unlike us messed-up humans
There’s no existential angst.

There’s a headless pigeon in my yard
A bird’s life must be awfully hard
He can’t afford to drop his guard
Or this will happen.

Some critter lurking near the decking
Just as our bird was idly pecking
Grabbed and crushed his little neck in
Jaws a-snapping.

No more will he bill and coo
No more making pigeon poo
There’s a lesson there for me and you:
Don’t get caught napping.

Susan Moore


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