Fat pigeons peck hopefully
at Saturday night’s scat–
tickets, receipts, ketchup-stained napkins–
dotting grey cement as though they were
the leaves of autumn.
The Saturday night squawks and judders,
the clangs and gulps and sighs,
are replaced by an echoing quiet,
as though covered by a layer of soft cotton
intruded on only by pigeon murmurs and
the petulant honk
of a single metal beast on rubber legs
piloted by some human who didn’t
make it home last night.
The smell of sweat and alcohol
from a hooded passerby
interrupts the aroma
of bread baked at four this morning
when the baker’s dark hands grasped soft white dough
trying to hold on to these islands
for just a little while longer
before being forced to return
to his ravaged own,
where people peck for leavings
like hopeful morning pigeons
and bake bitterness into
every scarce loaf.
Naomi Pliskow published her first poetry collection in a three-ring binder at age eight. She recently returned to writing poetry after a long hiatus. Her poems have been published in One Art, Adanna, Schuylkill Valley Journal, Canary, and several anthologies. Her satirical song lyrics were published in The New York Times in 2024. Her chapbook Entering the Water will be released in September of 2026. She is editor of the Philadelphia Mad Poets Society newsletter.