do the pigeons of Perron

have their blinders on?

are their narrow minds

that far gone?

ask the little saint—

oops, now ain’t

there feathers in

the Sturgeon?

circle walk

gobble talk

shivers and a puff fluff

bird speak that’s rough, rough

sure is pecking tough enough

dovecote gossip coop

under slander concrete roof

tossing pebbles from

sharp beaks, they’re

letting ’em fly from

Perron Street

never trust

the yellow eyes of

the pigeons of Perron

they give the dove love

to running clubs

the cycling hubs

and skater snubs

cooing, pooping

dive bombers looming

their bike path wrath

needs a head shake

and a bath

hey, little saint?

oops, now ain’t

their feathers in

the Sturgeon?