The White Feather

© Marek CECH / Shutterstock.com

"I use Grammarly's plagiarism checker because although I suspect Hemingway never wrote any of the pieces in this blog, I need to be sure."
 
There’s a white feather 
lying on the floor of the bus,

framed perfectly by a patch of sunlight,

just lying there

as though there was nothing incongruous

about there being a feather on a bus,

especially when it is 
what looks like a cockatoo feather

because cockatoos don't catch buses
 

Breast I think, 
the feather that is,

though it could be a back feather,

Incongruous because cockatoos don't catch buses

not that I’ve ever seen 
although I suppose they could 
given that pigeons catch trains in London,

riding the underground to reap the food rewards

left by commuters at all the different stations
 

But my buses don’t run underground

and bus stops here are 
no source of food for cockatoos,

so why catch a bus 
and leave a white feather 
lying on the floor of the bus,

framed perfectly by a patch of sunlight, 
of course, it could have,

it might have been an angel
 

Angels ride buses, don’t they,

because cockatoos don't,

not last time I looked,

not being pigeons and all that,

not that angels are pigeons,

but when they take their wings off,

well, not take them off,

when they hide them so 
we mortals can't see them
 

They hide their wings
under trench coats 

and sit on park benches 
and ride public transport 
making people feel better about life,

not that we can see them or their wings,

but it is possible, isn't it,

that a stray feather could make its way 
from under the trench coat

A white feather,
lying on the floor of the bus,

framed perfectly by a patch of sunlight,

except I think angel feathers would be bigger,

of course I don't really know 
because I've never seen angel wings,

they hide them under trench coats,

I think I've heard them though,

the sound of angel wings …

Listen.