I am that pigeon sitting on the power line

Swaying back and forth

Watching the clouds, watching the time

Feeling the breeze from the south and the north

It takes a lot of focus to balance

I’m not sure that these ropes were made for talons

Am I on the highest voltage line

What if I go a little higher

Would I be shocked and refined

I’m rocking back and forth

I could slip at any moment

The squashed squirrel in the road below is an omen

But at least I have wings

An insurance policy of sorts

A safety net to protect me from all kinds of things

Something about being on the power line gives me a sense of immunity

I can look down on the other pigeons, the frenetic squirrels, the mallards

My exotic community

The emerald green on those ducks is prettier than any gem or fabric I’ve seen

And oh, to have the quickness of that rodent

Up here I have the power to rain on their parade

I know, my mind is bent

I feel the line beneath me give way

I sink a little

I move my wings to the middle

Between the sky and the line

I am gray, a pigeon

I’ll sit on any line or fence

No time for superstition or self-defense

The telephone pole collapses

I spread my wings but they are like ashes

The line I sit on drops

To the ground, not the sky, I flop

I am surrounded by squirrels and ducks

They orchestrated this

Just my luck

I am grounded

Not electrified

But I survived

Are my restless musings and my teetering the lines founded