He was the closest thing to a Biblical prophet
I had ever seen. A million pigeons followed him
like a windfall of angel feather, seraphim,
cherubim, protecting Elijah
from the real world.
His skin was dark and wrinkled
from a million days under the summer sun
always barefoot, faded Bermuda shorts
his only protection from the wind and rain.
I never heard him speak, but he always waved “hello”
to me and my mom.
Like the proverbial robin on the first day of Spring
the Bird Man heralded the end of a season
of winter storms that sent the finch-sparrows flocking
for shelter in beams,
in trees, old houses.
Every morning, long before the sun came up
I’d see him walking along the beach
with his host of pigeons, our own patron prophetÖ
the Bird Man of Huntington Beach.
September 1, 1998
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Poetry
I like this! Paints a great picture – I can see the scene perfectly 🙂
Ahhh… We always loved this one. So glad we could dig it out of the Wayback Machine. This was one of our earliest submissions… 1997 I think.