Subway platform, Thursday, January 12th
Jan. 13th, 2006 10:35 am(written yesterday on the subway platform, 9:58 a.m.)
Standing at the front end of the Manhattan-bound platform, underneath Flatbush Avenue. There's a rough-looking pigeon, smeared nearly black by city grime, limping along the edge of the platform, pecking at invisible crumbs in the cracks between tiles. Its right leg looks shrunken, crippled, but I can't tell which leg is causing it to limp. Its left leg looks swollen compared to the other.
And I wonder -- how did it get down here? Does it know that it's lost? Do any of us know how we got here, living in this fierce, unlovable city? Where we have to peck at nothing to survive? In my mind, I survey the city dispassionately, taking in the inhuman concrete that was made by humans, thinking about the unhealthy habitats we build for ourselves every day.
I don't feel disgust at the sight of this sorry creature today; I feel kinship.
Standing at the front end of the Manhattan-bound platform, underneath Flatbush Avenue. There's a rough-looking pigeon, smeared nearly black by city grime, limping along the edge of the platform, pecking at invisible crumbs in the cracks between tiles. Its right leg looks shrunken, crippled, but I can't tell which leg is causing it to limp. Its left leg looks swollen compared to the other.
And I wonder -- how did it get down here? Does it know that it's lost? Do any of us know how we got here, living in this fierce, unlovable city? Where we have to peck at nothing to survive? In my mind, I survey the city dispassionately, taking in the inhuman concrete that was made by humans, thinking about the unhealthy habitats we build for ourselves every day.
I don't feel disgust at the sight of this sorry creature today; I feel kinship.
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Date: 2006-01-13 09:00 pm (UTC)