Did pigeons exist before cities? (We wonder aloud) Hard to imagine. The chicken or the egg. We toss crumbs, instigate rivalry, and are met with practiced, head-bob nonchalance. Seasoned New Yorkers, (maybe more so than we) they seize what's theirs, pretend not to care. Pretend what they're grabbing, not sharing, (ferociously tearing) is just a lucky find, not what's keeping them alive. We are scavengers on a bench, I think, don't you? Feeding our quiet sides, picking at the morselled moments when we breathe. Like a gang of pigeons on a cigarette sidewalk, trying to remember where we came from.