argentine pigeons

The wind picked up. The pigeons gather to a corner of the park. Now grouped, they took off into formation, flying all at once to the right as a sort of practice run. They touched down once more and geared up for the final showcase. They flew upwards, all one hundred and ten and swooped over the children’s area. In one go, the hundred and ten took a shit over the children. For a moment, an eternity; the park was silent. No child ran, no child snivelled or hit or screamed. A moment of pure, unadulterated silence.

Payback for the infants’ terrorizing runs through the pigeon park. Payback for all the interrupted matings, the preenings and the nestings. The pigeons would be terrorized again, but this giant shit would comfort them through generations.