Well I feed pigeons chicken
I try to convince myself this is wrong but the more they gather around my bench the more scraps of chicken I discard
Food I paid for with money I don't have
But they jump up beside me desperately seeking the nourishment I have
Never putting their face in my container of food but close enough to touch on the bench beside me
They can feed themselves
The aren't the homeless on the street waiting for someone to care enough to pick them up out of their condition
They aren't one of those starving children you see on those infomercial asking for our pennies
The pigeons will thrive whether I feed them or not
Yet still, here I am, breaking of meat and biting it and using the piece left in my hand to feed to the birds
I reason that it's a different species
Chicken, not pigeon
It's kinda like saying if you feed me Brazillian it's okay
But people are people... I'd still be eating human
But somehow I feel calm as I watch the little birds nip in quick and beat the pigeons to the meat
Some of the pigeons are just bullies on a playground of lined bricks
I love to see that no matter how hard they try the smaller animal always triumphs
I guess what it really is, is that I wish I could be a pigeon
Be able to fly away
Roam the park benches for what the people will throw my way
But I am already human and in need of so many things
That means I'm part of the race of feeders... We are all human
There is no one to feed me
I will never get what I need
And with this reality I continue to feed the birds
