851
A flying pigeon hit me on a fall day
becouse an old clothes buyer's junk cart
had surprised it in the gutter: license 851.
The summer slacks and skirts in the heap
looked not empty and not full of their legs,
and a baseball cap remained in head-shape.
Death is a complete collector of antiques
who finds, takes, and bales each individual
of every species all the time for sale to hod,
and I, too, now have been brushed by wing.
