dead pigeon

a pigeon trapped behind netting,
meant to keep out but just as good at
keeping in.
stringy prison.
hoarse coos and a pained rise and
fall of feathered breast.

it’s me that hears.
all the way
down the side of
the back of
the fire escape.
i can feel the death rattle scraping at the back of my throat.

there’s
nothing
i can do
for you.
nothing.
i can’t help,
i’m so sorry.

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