Even the pigeons can see the puddles
But i’m not sure they can see the rain
And I do not think they will look at me,

They hop across the swamp-filled curbs,
Dipping talons, and scraping wings as they go
And maybe they will dare to disturb
The still liquid reflections,

But I do not think they will look at me,
Not in the mirrors on the street floors
And not during the purgatory
Of waiting out the bus stop storms,

And the magpies come in twos,
(Nana told me
What that meant once)
But now I forget, and now I refuse
To believe that there is any meaning
In two magpies singing, alas
I do not think they will sing for me.