At the Station

A pigeon stands statuesque
on a rusted iron girder of the
station’s ceiling, staring at his peers
with a nonchalance befitting his stance.

Human couples mill waiting, observing,
youths stand in the patch of sunlight
afforded by the half-closed roof
listening to the pigeon’s springtime wooing.

Male approaches female, feathers aloft,
strutting, confident, preened, she answers
in dulcet cooing tones, aware of the
competition, of a petitioning for sex.

A mid-day strip of blue lines
the station roof, white streaks of
sea gulls scream overhead, in another
language specific to them, sea talk.

Meanwhile, on land, a train approaches
and pigeons disperse, as the human
machine rolls in creakily, brakes screeching,
interrupting silent lovemaking, transporting.