We were always loyal to lost causes, the professor said. Success for us is the death of the intellect and of the imagination.*

My research on the pigarrot proved rather fruitless. I unearthed a photo of a multi-colored pigeon shaking itself on Las Ramblas, but it didn’t really resemble my mythical creature. According to most of my sources (Google), it appears that pigeons and parrots cannot mate. Perhaps it was an incredibly selective mutation? Hmmmm.

I haven’t looked up the cause of the tree destruction yet, further report to follow.

Currently, I am participating in a poem a day challenge celebrating April as Poetry Month. A few of my poems might actually be pertinent for this blog, so you will see them in the coming days. Please remember these are more for fun and to burn the cobwebs in my brain with tiny, joking little fires.

I also have a surprise from Friday night to post soon, another random Barcelona moment that would NEVER happen in the US.

Here are a few of the poems I thought fitting for this space thus far. First, a tribute to the wonder of nature known as the parrgeon.


The Lovechild of a Parrot and a Pigeon

Perry saw Peggy fat on a rock one day
and knew he had to have her, no matter

the odds. Biology, the flock, her cock,
her indifferent orange eyes.

He swooped down and threw out his
RAAAARRRRRK eh RAAAAAKR!

She demurred, flitted her wings, and
said, coo roo-c’too-coo coolly.

(A quick snack ant distracted Perry)
(Peggy waddled into a dusty bush)

One Cloacal Kiss and several weeks later
a Parrgeon was born…or a pigarrot, you

name it what you please. But Perry
and Peggy called her Daffodil.


Then, a Brooklyn poem…


Grand Army Plaza, Brooklyn

Long weeks looking for a home:
not the basement with dilapidated floors
and caving ceilings on the LES,
not the checkerboard tiled, bullet
hole doored, closet free abode
in the Village, not the seven
layered grime palace on Prospect,
not the slanted, ant inhabited
empty nest on Fourth Avenue.

We were more than discouraged,
it was the toothbreaker NYC special,
the empty grin kick, the nosebleed,
black eye, blistered feet, internal
hemorrhaging delight provided via
first last credit check deposit broker fee.

And Then! The setting sunlight
on Grand Army Plaza, and we forgot
it was a pale imitation of older
and grander victory arches, someone
beat someone and who cared because
all was bathed in red tea light and
we knew we would succeed.


And lastly, a haiku for learning Spanish….


Hablando Castellano

I live in my mouth
– bright room filled with dark feathers –
mangle your language.