Rock Dove

By Dave Goulder 


A croft, squatting

among high rocks.

The sea alarmingly close.

Stone man and son work

to restore an old building, while

pigeons feed greedily on

a cultivated patch, a rare square

in a desert

of bog and stones.


Crack! The shotgun’s sharp report.

Pigeons scatter. All but two 

who now punctuate and stain 

the black soil.

The builders observe as the crofter
withdraws, smiling.



Surrendering to curiosity

the stone man inspects

the slayings, then challenges
the killer.

“Bloody pigeons,” the retort.


Stone man leans to confide.

“No; rock doves. Rare,

protected.” The two bond
briefly. A conspiracy is formed

without words.

Both have just learned something.