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October 30, 2015 / hbrowne4

The Pigeons of Dublin By Liam Aungier


They own the city. Perched
Atop the heads of public statues
They oversee the life of the metropolis.
Take that one: her pink feet anchored
In the bronze hair of The Liberator,
Her quick eyes mirror
The river of traffic flowing
Over O’Connell Bridge.
Un-frightened by the fanfares
Of distant squad-cars,
They loiter in alleyways
Pecking on the left-overs
Of last night’s take-outs.
I cannot love the seagulls squawking
Like fishwives in argument;
Nor the swan, beloved of Leda,
Proud as a disco king
In his feathered suit of white.
But the pigeons of Dublin!
Plebeian and urbane, they coo
Crooning to each other like singers
From a 1940s wireless; un-fabled,
The opposite of rare
In their grey plumed overalls.
They are everywhere.

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