Doves in the Yard

in a circle, warbling gaily--six or seven doves bubbled with rhyme
calling out, one after a nother, sometimes in sync
they sang songs to the moon and stars, under a cloudless sky
three were peaceful
two were agitated
one remained silent the whole night through

between plumes of smoke and gulps of rose
rambling banter ensued for hours
the cold struck through their jackets
but all found the scene satisfactory
--as a new century closed in
far from the apex of the hill
tabs popping, mincing words
chewing soup and chips
six or seven doves exchanging words
quips passed through their chittering jaws
standing next to the chairs

in a wee hour, some drifted into sleep
the silent one made his bed on the floor
others rustled into mattress and blanket
one of the two, still agitated, crashed into a chair
and shut his eyes, pulled up his hood

the others took themselves under his wing
and carried him in
where he pulled the walls down
and took the wrong bed
one more slipped into a different room
and woke hours later with an aching head