| After the revolt |
| We are free. Let all the streets know! Come roost on the high building on the metal idol with us; let the bread crumbs shower to the nests below while the bachelor cocks preen their reflections in puddles: we�ll bring the yearlings each fall lest they forget. My goodness, isn�t he a dream? And so brave: I�m sure I would never dare to swoop so nearly to the idol: but he does it so easily brushing his wingtips over the cold metal and � can it be true? � yes, yes! he�s looking at me! Get lost, brother, this is my perch. Go roost in your own street. I only helped free it after all while you sat around and babbled about bells the Great Pigeon only knows where you�d still be if birds like me weren�t around to stand up where it�s needed. So what if it�s only metal: if it had been the real thing there we�d have mobbed it off just as fiercely � so go chase your own hens. How dare you steal my crumbs! those were for my chicks, you yellow-bellied sapsucker: keep within your own territory. Once the two-feets empty their bags there will be no more � the Great Pigeon seize me and throw me to the idol before I�ll let you make my children hunger! Did you hear about the cock two buildings over? They say he cracked his neighbour�s eggs in a bout of pique, and afterwards it was found that most of his own eggs had rolled off into the street. His poor hen! But that�s not the worst of it: the bereaved father killed him, while all the neighbours watched he turned around and killed the remaining egg, then started stamping on whosever nest he could reach and when they tried to stop him he flew straight into a screaming metal snake. That�s terrible! but I have to say they�ll be better off: at least they won�t have to scrounge for scraps when there already aren�t enough to go around. Why can�t I go out and play? Huh, child, not now � When? when? I�m hungry! Later, when things have settled down � You always say later! The other streets always have plenty but it�s never going to change here. I promise, when it�s quiet we�ll go out and strut the walkways and snatch food from the two-feets like we did when I was a yearling � but the cocks have gone mad they�re breaking the eggs it�s no place for you young ones to be. Does your Ma know you snuck out? I don�t have to tell my Ma anything, I�m a yearling. so there! Well I can reach a higher perch than you, so there! So my daddy can fly to a higher perch than anyone. Your daddy�s an idol-worshipping egg murderer. You take that back! �S true: everyone�s talking about it. He did not: the mob hurt him bad when he tried to defend my younger sister. Ya, but then he joined them. Only �cause we need food �n protection: isn�t our street supposed to be free? My daddy once sat on the idol � match that. Anyone can sit on metal, twit. So why don�t you? I will � So do it already! Just watch my tailfeathers � uh, Ma � it�s moving � it�s diving � is that what the real idol looks like? Ma? Everywhere else the pigeons coo and strut and go about their normal everyday lives always busy, seeking out the most prominent statues on which to roost and brood � but not on these streets, not where the falcon�s image perpetually waits, not where the dark sleek silhouette seeks out the weakness and exposure of free streets. |
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| � 2003 Kyle Altis. All rights reserved. |