pigeon holed

He heard a director call a film
Psychological horror
Pleased that others couldn’t
Place it in any particular pigeon hole
At which point he discovered
How pleased he was to be
Of a different size and
Shape to a pigeon
But the fact of the size
Of his apartment had him thinking
That he had to move into something
Larger, more spacious
To avoid his being placed
In any particular human hole

He packed his bags,
Wrapped his ornaments and called the men
With vans to remove one life
For another of a different size
But when the third man looked
Like David Carradine
He became confused and lost
Sight of the line between
Words on a page and something
Approximating breathing
Through a wet sock
In the headiness of what was real
He dropped the crystal chandelier
Which was too big anyway

By eighteen hundred he thought
He had regained his composure
But standing upright was his birthright
He found he couldn’t tell
The difference between one apartment
And another
Which was even more confusing
He noticed
How the pigeons were settling
On the guttering above
The new doorway or was it the old one
The men
Might have been a figment
Of his imagination and the tv.

He once heard a director
Call a film psychological horror
And it was on that day
He noticed how pigeons lived in holes,
Men walked with two legs,
Boxes could hold items of different shapes,
The television carried dreams
And underneath his armpits
Feathers began to sprout.

Text: © J. L. Nash, 2011
Images: © Anthony Goicolea


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