for joy

A magpie dismantled a tree twig by twig,

crossed the road, remembered it on concrete.

Cuddled into it like an embrace. A fat pigeon slumped on the pavement

like a king – like a drunk – watched me watch the magpie with

disdain. And a little pity. He said: you know it’s not the season

for nest building. I said: well it has been unreasonably warm

he said: they’re not as mysterious as you think, or as smart.

I didn’t know what he meant. Magpies he explained

you go cursing fates upon them. By you he meant humans.

A little bitterness in his voice. Crabbed foot, half-claw veteran.

I thought of the way we make benches uninhabitable

for men by making them uninhabitable for birds,

how we justify anti-homeless spikes by saying they prevent

bird shit. The pigeon was bored of my conversation, I had no bread,

no answers. One for sorrow he said gloomily. What? You never

thought what it does? To be cursed to bring misery if you’re alone?

Well, I’m just glad you don’t make meanings out of me. Magpie

above us glinted sapphire. Desperate to have the last word I lied:

I think all birds are beautiful. He glared at me. Evil. Fuck! Evil.

Repulsive animal. His stumped foot like coral accused.