They come
sometimes
like a lone starling
tentative and reluctant
creeping closer
gently closer
until suddenly it is just there.
where it belongs
as if it were always
a part of the day

some days
like a flock of pigeons
descending
upon a single lonely french fry
they come
in a gale of feathers and beaks
in a rush
to beat each other
to the treat

They peck
at the seeds
planted in my brain
through the decades
of existance
they come
and they peck
and they flock
and they nest
and
they
make themselves
most certainly at home

and I
the silent witness
to the coming
to the descending
to the onslaught
capture the chrechendo
before
it has the chance
to pass