The pigeons are cooing
Picking and chewing
The old men sit silent and still
A slate grey monument
Gives them stability
For lost fertility of dreams

You can’t look down upon another
Who has lost his way somehow
He doesn’t need those kind of looks
He could probably use some help

A newspaper drifts by
Blowing and scattered
An old one it’s yellow and brown
Yesterday’s bread crumbs
Lay few on the ground now
An affordable luxury they found

A bag lady known as Katie
Belches with laughter
Her print dress is soiled but proud
Her afternoon visits
Break up the boredom
Of old age time and a crowd

The pigeons are cooing
Picking and chewing
The old men have all gone now
A slate grey monument
That gives them stability
Tomorrow will host another round

You can’t look down upon another
Who has lost his way somehow
And as you pass linger to laugh
Find a smile not a frown