Monday, 10 January 2011

A dead pigeon.
A flying rat on its back.
Dirty white tummy open and worm wrecked.
Gnarled, red feet curled up into knobbly little legs.
A hive of disease and pestilence.
Squirming under oily feathers.
A harbinger of loss and death.
But somehow not bereft.
Cheerful even.
Almost funny.

No comments:

Post a Comment