Hot Pigeon

A pigeon stands panting on the fence.
You’d think birds would be the coolest ones
In this weather;
The breeze in their feathers
As they fly through the blue.
I suppose it’s hard work
Flying in air as warm as this.
I see his little pink tongue,
His chest moving quickly.
He’s wide-eyed, scanning
For insects, water and predators.
It’s hard work to be a pigeon,
Especially when it’s hot.

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