Dead Pigeon

As I walked up to work this morning, I almost stepped on a dead pigeon. It was fat and dirty with its feathers ruffled, and it had a really surprised look on its face. Clearly it did not see this coming.

Imagine the last few minutes of this pigeon's life. It's hopping along, feeling like it's invincible. Nothing's gonna bring this pigeon down, it thinks to itself. And he's all psyched to compete in the Pigeon Championships this weekend, where he's the experts' pick to win it all. Then BAM, heart attack. Or BAM: stroke. I mean, I guess we'll have to wait for the autopsy to know for certain.

Actually, I'm pretty sure he flew into a window. Some coworkers were talking about it yesterday, how a bird hit their window. He got up, a little dazed, so we didn't have much cause for alarm. Chances are he wasn't too worried either. I mean, I've ran into windows before, and it takes a few seconds to back on your feet, but you end up OK. Maybe it's different for pigeons because today, and probably yesterday too, he's dead.

I wrote this elegy for him.

How vain the dreams of pigeons be,
And how sudden doth they flee the grasp
As feathered bodies tumble down
From off the window's cunning glass.

We know not when the end shall come
And pigeons' treasured hopes shall cease,
If God above old age permits
Or cars deliver death on streets.

Alas, alas, my pigeon friend,
This life is not the perfect kind.
Until we meet at heaven's gate,
Your memory's in my heart and mind.