Catch that pigeon
Waiting for retirement
I used to feel as smart
as a done up top button,
always sat up straight
for the spare milk.
But collars get tighter
long days try to apologise,
children get carried like rugby balls
to the weekend try line.
With age comes responsibility
so I applied and got the job
the fountain of all knowledge,
apparently “youth” was already taken.
So now they ask and I tell them,
they ask again and I show them.
Each day my pigeon fly’s out the window
and returns with messages
heavy around his ankle.
So I sit in the dark and read them,
I look at my phone and I read them.
He tells me what it’s like,
the freedom of flight
out over the city down the tracks
into the country, washing high
over the coast.
I hope one day he never comes back.