Patrick Trombly has published poetry and fiction in over two dozen journals in the US, Europe and India, including The Dewdrop, Loch Raven Review, Hemlock Review, Amethyst Review, The Abstractionist and Die Leere Mitte. His poetry is forthcoming in Roanoke Review, Connecticut River Review, 1922 Review, The Closed Eye Open, Half and One and other journals. His first short story is forthcoming in Resonance (UMaine). Patrick lives in Manhattan, and has spent time in Spain, France, Italy, Greece and Turkiye.
Beady-eyed, white-feathered,
and sharp-nibbed,
with wind-worn faces,
the flock flew in
from twenty-four kilometers down river
and drove everything else out.
Who could have imagined
that we would one day
miss the pigeons?
The big barbarians
stand guard
on the obelisks,
and on the roofs of the palazzi
and on the statues’ heads.
They drink from the fountains
and the aqueducts.
When the rain comes,
they stay perched
and wait out the tempest.
Then they break into squadrons
and fly to the parks.
They’re foreign – or were.
But one of the local birds,
treasonous, frightened,
or just too friendly,
must have told one of them
that making a pitter-patter
with the feet
attracts the worms
back to the top of the dirt
just beneath the grass.
Previously published in The Argyle Literary Magazine, Texas
Poetry in this post: © Patrick Trombly
Published with the permission of Patrick Trombly