PIGEONS

The other day, I saw some pigeons.
And pigeon protocol.
They bobbed their heads and bummed about
In the station roundabout.

They had a puddle
All to themselves.
Its surface rippled with the weight
Of their patchy images.

"Wait a second," I fumbled
To find my scissors and bottle.
It was down to some drops.

A bloke saw us from across
Our soggy patch.
"Just do it," said his jumper.

So I smiled and I did.
The pigeons bobbed and lurched.
Clear water an inch high
Had been placed in their midst.

They gave it some grave looks
And bobbed and bobbed their scaly hoods
Then, unperturbed, they
Returned to their nine-to-fives.