In 1918, Cher Ami was born. He was a homing pigeon
in World War 1. On his last mission, he flew 25 miles
in 25 minutes, even after being shot through the breast,
one eye blind, and one leg hanging by a tendon. He died
from his war injuries the following year, a hero, awarded
a war cross. Now in a museum, taxidermied. Up until
the late 50s rock doves were considered useful. Now,
we call them dirty. Pigeons. Rats with wings. Less than
a century and we’ve disregarded beauty, genius, loyalty.
Worthless. Ask anyone on the receiving end of infidelity.
A street cat will tell you the nuance between wild and feral.
Ask history of the past few millennia and it will tell you cruelty
has become synonymous with mankind. Inhumane is a word
to describe acts by humans. Ironic. Tragic, too. I know. I will
tell you I have seen good, though—A pile of cat food scattered
on a street corner. A hand holding open a door. Someone letting
a stranger go first at the checkout counter of the grocery store.
There may be hope for us, however, wretched we may have been.
The city sky with a murmuration of outstretched wings is forgiveness