I Thought Pigeons Were Vegetarians
by Barrett Warner

No machine can thresh grain like a bird,
especially the pigeon who down beats
a throaty song and floats off
with nothing better to do than be faithful,
like its close cousin, the dove.

Monogamy isn’t merciful.
Sunbeams stab through missing battens
as two newlyweds dodder to the peak
where an extended clan of bats
sleeps upside-down like grapes.

This pair takes its sweet time
harvesting a leg, a wing, a face,
resting between courses as if to relate
a story in a gambler’s bluffling way—
shuffling, calling, raking the kitty.

Belief is a tricky beast
to keep alive on wheat and water.
Despite miles and days of crops,
and kept busy with the land’s riches,
I never lose the taste for flesh.

Read more from Barrett Warner in our poetry issue.

Barrett Warner’s little ponies include Why Is it So Hard to Kill You? (Somondoco, 2016) and My Friend Ken Harvey (Publishing Genius, 2014). New work is forthcoming in Adroit Journal.