When evening comes in the country this time of year
clouds layer across the sky
like pigeons ashy gray
with bars of darker smudge.
Setting sunlight behind them sometimes.
Cosmic bird wings
enveloping our side of the earth.
When I was a boy there was the occasional pigeon
in a flock the color of dusty brick.
Rose or rust would have been too highfalutin.
They gave the flock variety.
Although unlike white pigeons they could not grant wishes.
I guess dominant genes took care of them.
I remember them fondly, like passenger trains.
Here’s the thing:
tonight driving home
I saw the pigeon sky layered with ashy gray
with bars of darker smudge
but in front of them came clouds of dusty brick
like those old time pigeons
when the sun shone on them from behind.
About the Author
John Davis Sr. is retired from the US government. He is also retired from teaching college literature. Further, he is retired from raising sheep on his and his wife’s farm in the North Georgia mountains. He is not completely retired from creative scribbling. He is the father of Florida poet John Davis Jr.