Feathery Frustrations

On my backyard porch

I can see a private aviary,

with birds of various descriptions

small and large ones  

not really favouring pigeons

poking remains of morsels

and leaving spotty signage behind --

decorating my verandah. Oh

to escape from my debilitating

condition, a stroke they say.

. 

From a pool of feathers I

prefer mourning doves who

serenade me as woes

help me remember 

feelings of lost and lonely.

Yet they still come visiting.

Perhaps it is my choice

of feed that arouses appetites,

or to consider

this hapless soul who too laments

a flavour of limitations.

Once again wings

scatter into view, feed lightly

pecking in mesmerizing rhythm

until satiated. They are not

gluttonous as pigeons.

And after morning repast a nap.

Later, bulging eyes view my

recording and I wish

I could mourn alongside them.