[R. S. Gwynn]

I'm not satisfied with the ending.

Doves in the Lot

The grackles in the grocery’s parking lot,
Slightly unkempt, the ambling purplish males
And duller females with their dragging tails
And feathers half askew, boldly will not
Yield way to cars or shoppers pushing carts.
What are they waiting for? A spill of beans
Or rice to home in on like sable darts?
They seem to thrive beyond their slender means.

Today a brace of northbound mourning doves
Kept to the fringes, waiting for largesse
Of some small sort not spied by their large cousins.
Mated for life, who knows what moves their loves?

In Oahu once, I saw them clustered, dozens--
Tiny, cooing, sustained by less than less.