Poem Of The Day: Pigeon King Of Florence

Finding the little pleasures of Florence.

cigarette butts for church crumbs

slabs of armor stammering in the statue of a bearded man

pigeons as his eyebrows

                                    feathery hair growth on his bald head




what is it like to have people shoe you away

but you keep neck-nodding yes

strutting on steps

squabbling in stone




what is it like to be that small                 surrounded by church choirs chiming

    like a baby crawling              through the San Lorenzo nave




        Mamma trying to wheel a stroller between cracks of centuries




her baby boy running

after four pigeons after

                                                            the forgotten

pacifier bouncing up and down

in his mouth like a kazoo




     spooning strawberry yogurt; takes a bite for herself




“Eduordo!”




but he keeps running

                                                            “Eduordo!”




he keeps running after the four pigeons

“Eduordo—  Ciao!”

       suddenly

       he stops

                        breathless




how a hello can cut

how a hello can shatter escape

Yogi Bear’s t-shirt grin frozen

mid-goof

                                                                                    “Ciao Mamma! Ciao!”




and I realize there is nothing like a little boy

answering his mother’s

“Eduordo—  Ciao!”




nothing like being whisked away prematurely

from the edge of a wing




how even a pigeonhole revels




in a box

dreaming

               of flight
Amanda Dettmann

Contributor

Amanda is an avid traveler who calls Maine her home, but her favorite places include Amsterdam's Christmas markets and Shakespeare's Globe in London. She is passionate about poetry, theatre, and teaching writing to kids and adults with disabilities. She thinks the best part of traveling is hearing strangers' incredible stories. Her ultimate mission? To find the tastiest cappuccino in the world.

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