Two Odes for Pigeon Feet

ODE TO PIGEON FEET

Oh, Pigeon Feet,
cast in greening bronze,
you stand upon
your proud pedestal,
memorial to a crime.
Lean knuckle and claw
clutch an arrow pointing
West. Perhaps it is a clue
to tell us who stole
the rest of you.
Who can name the thief
Of our Pigeon from
West Princes Street?
Oh, if only you could speak.
If only they had left your beak!
But all that remains,
Tragic and proud,
Are your Pigeon Feet.

ODE TO PIGEON FEET REGAINED AND LOST AGAIN

In a gesture of faith
and hope in the power
of art to transform
the heart of man,
the artist recast
our Pigeon! It stood
resplendent, a testament
to redemption for
the briefest few weeks
before being stolen
again. Now -
I am sure that someone is enjoying
a matched set of footless pigeons.
But I wonder -
will the artist go on, ever hopeful,
supplying the vandal
with an entire footless flock?
Or will measures be taken
by the powers that be
to keep out the thief,
Perhaps encasing the work
in a cage? How ironic
(bronze-ic?) - the statue
of a bird behind bars.
It seems to me that
the best course would be
to cage all of us
and all of the spaces
we have already defaced,
so that we can look
but not touch.
Art and beauty would be
safe from us
and free.

by Lori Martin - I wrote these in 2002 while living in Scotland. Original photos for once!