A Feathered Cabal (kuh-bahl)

Line up in an orderly fashion.
Pigeons on rooftops, would-be assassin[s].
Like the wind sweeping across the tall grass,
A flock of gray pigeons rises “une masse.”
Thrusting his chest out, the male pigeon strut[s],
Negotiating a harem and such.
When I hear the cooing of the pigeons,
Is it many or just a smidgen?
Those pigeons perched on a telephone wire,
Are sitting in judgment [silent conspire].

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