ginger pigeon

I saw a ginger pigeon yesterday.

Shining bronze and copper among all his concrete brothers.

He was looking fine; healthy, smooth feathers and bright eyes, a stark contract to his bedraggled, grey, knobble-footed brothers.

I wondered if he gets teased by all of the other pigeons?

‘Oi, ginger wings.’

A pigeon only a mother could love?

No. He was too plump and prosperous. I think he is some kind of pigeon king, who gets to sit on Nelson’s tricorne hat – the premier pigeon spot in the city.

I’m not the only one it seems to have spotted my auburn plumed friend

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