Walking for my morning coffee
through the falling rain,
I feel again the cold and my toothache pain,
leaving the bus, negotiating the speeding traffic
through what to me feels a rush,
reaching the corner, a hush as
slipping along the side street,
avoiding sudden traffic, above the narrow pavement,
I notice the broken awning.
Here next to the closed, derelict barber’s shop,
three gobbling pigeons have found
a box-shaped shelter; a tabloid sized hole
from where a torn out section of thin wood
and have made a home, an aviary,
a sort of “rus in urbe” among the tangled wires.
The birds bob and cheerfully chirp exchanges.
In this section life flourishes.
I stop to snap these jovial creatures that
triumph amidst the clutter,
defeating austerity, likewise
I recover my affection for broken places
….and the game is still on.