The
Doves
Around
Here
Are
Uncommonly
Dumb,
I fear.
They
Dash
Into
My
Windows
With
A
Crash,
Leaving
An
Oily
Smear
On
The
Glass.
What
The
Hell,
I cry,
Don’t
You
Guys
Know
How
To
Fly?
I expect
To
Find
Them
On
The
Deck
With
A
Broken
Neck,
But
Nothing
Is
Ever
There,
They
Are
Always
Back
In
The
Air,
Or
Perched
On
The
Power
Line,
Looking
Feathery
Fine.