singular mourning dove up on a wire, tiny silhouette painted against the grey shifting tide, coming storm, pays no mind, doves have distinct bodies, angular, familiar, kind of like a heart if you stare long enough, of course you would have to pop off it’s head, ‘what a morbid thought’. I thought, and so it is but I thought it anyway, not as if the bird was in any real danger, the wire is quite high, I could never reach it, plus I am afraid of heights, also, I don’t own a gun…

notes… hey, sometimes I am in a goofy mood, this would be one of those times… gallows humor is fine to swing on through at times, like this one