September 12, 2025 - “The Sky Flashes Pigeons” by Henry Hughes

Brooklyn, New York

During the pandemic, the boy raised pigeons

on the roof, banded the left foot of each squab,

holding them wing-cupped

to his cheek. Bright flapping flocks,

shit-spotted windows. The woman next door,

with no pets or plants, complained.

The boy’s grandpa apologized, offered to wash windows.

She slammed the door and sprinkled poison.

There were shouts, pleas, threats,

the kid crying over the feathered lump of his favorite

checkered hen. Then he pulled a pistol

from grandpa’s sock drawer.

You can see where this might go

and the awkward relief when, weeks later,

that neighbor dies. The family says Covid,

carts away boxes, the rest out with the trash.

Grandpa feels uneasy, whispers prayers to the clouds,

and throws that stupid gun off the pier.

The boy scrapes the loft and strokes

a fledgling. Police, taxis, drones, hawks,

butterflies and unmasked mothers with strollers

circle Prospect Park. The whole city

on the move again. Like a spotlight over

a crowd, the sky flashes pigeons.

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Henry Hughes grew up in Port Jefferson, New York, and he continues to maintain strong connections to Long Island and New York City. He is the editor of the recent Everyman’s anthologies, River Poems and River Stories, and the author of five collections of poetry, including Sergeant Dark, forthcoming from Lost Horse Press.