I am getting old a day in the life of a madman and why I hate pigeons

Don't tell me that old age

doesn't change you

I just did some thing

that I swore I would never do

I just did some thing

that rocked me to my vary core

I got up early today

Which I hate

I hate the morning

And every thing about them

The sun is too bright

People look too dazed

And or hurried

And it takes me

Ten cups of coffee

And ten cigarettes

Just to get moving

Anyway I was early

So I took my time

Meaning that on every other corner

I would stop

And look at the houses

And every thing else

I would get lost in my surroundings

I am getting old and vacant

After completing my business

Which means paying bills

And bitching

I returned home

And in front of my door were

Like ten pigeons

Eating some rice

That the restaurant next door

Had dropped on the sidewalk

I hate pigeons

Hate them

Diseased nasty things

Anyway their was one pigeon

That I couldn't stop looking at

He was white

And sang a sweet song

And followed me as I drank coffee

In my doorway

What the hell is happening

It was it he was talking to me

As if he needed me

I hate pigeons

I got that vacant look in my eyes

Ran up stairs

And got my pack of sunflower

Seeds which I eat all the time

I brought them down

And started feeding the pigeons

I hate pigeons

I hate the old people that feed them

Anyway I couldn't stop myself

This bird this white bird

Which in my head

became a dove

Became my friend

I got the greatest pleasure

in watching him

Eat

In Knowing

that he had a meal for the day

Soon I had 20 or more birds

in front of me

And I became Gulliver

I began talking to them

Loving them

What the hell is wrong with me

Drinking coffee

Feeding pigeons

I am ashamed

I have crossed the line

Either into madness or old age

Park benches here I come

I never understood before this

How old folks could sit for hours

And feed the pigeons

Or read a paper on a park bench

Now I get it

You just appear to be vacant

You are still here

You just don't care to join

The rest of the world

 

It's the quiet that the old folks love

That I love

I am one of them now

Feeding these nasty things

Is a mission

It's fun having some thing around you

That doesn't talk back s

some thing living

And not human

That doesn't whine or bitch

I only want to here my own complaints

now

That's the beauty

Of old age

Selective madness

Ok you know I am obsessive

I will run to the store

and get some bread crumbs

I will get a better chair

So tomorrow

If and when

my white pigeon's return

Ill be ready

Old age here I come

I hate pigeons still

But hell its some thing to do