God minds the sparrows

God minds the sparrows
the cute little things
but I wonder about
the pigeons of Liverpool
that distract at best
annoy at times
and frequently
invoke a pitiable disgust
as they swarm around
the public squares
and outside the pastry shops
stubbing along on
toeless feet
and feetless legs
flapping featherless wings
and pecking at the detritus
of ten hundred thousand empty rubbish bins
with battle-scarred beaks and faces
or harsher
like that one at the bus stop
waiting with other world-weary
Liverpuddlians
pristinely purple with
immaculate green and blue trim
the most perfect of pigeons
except
this pigeon’s skull lacked
a dextral quadrant
the contents of its head
rubbery and gray with street dust
hung below its chin
flopping with
every pigeon strut
and step
and peck
defying sense
for it didn’t have the brains
to know it should die

yes, I wonder how God minds
the pigeons of Liverpool
at home and as homeless
as that girl on the step
with the forty year old face
and the twice as old burdens
and the thrice as old pain
her knees under her shirt
in January
her leathered right palm turned upward
in a rasp of a voice
can you spare 20 p?

or the one the Scouser kids
called Junior
who once we helped sit up
on the stone walk
near the bombed out church
in his alcoholic pain
and blubbering
through his incisorless gums
as the crowd swathed around him
on its way
until the ambulance
drivers finally arrived
breathing boredom
and annoyance for the drunks
who drank just barely enough not to die

and later maybe a fortnight
I met Junior
on campus
tipsy again (or still?)
and hearkened as he recited
the entire dialogue
between Alice
and the Mock Turtle

yes, I wonder how God minds
the pigeons of Liverpool