Poem by Chris Campbell

Cold Crooks by This Fire Pit

A pigeon naps by a dozing man,
their heads are tucked in. One to its chest,
the other under cardboard. How long

will they stay a duo by this fire pit?
These cold crooks, thieving flames.
A chip wrapper folds in wind.

Whose meal was that – and when’s the next?
It must be hard to live without respite.
Pigeon’s feathers twitch, man’s grunts

dampened by coats, one trainer beside his head.
A helicopter whirrs. Crew searches for convicts.
Nearby, a woman fist bumps anyone

in sight. She thumps of optimism, even
near this pit, as graffiti warns against the 9am-5pm.
Suits jest on their way to lunchtime drinks.

​Pigeons fly up to 700 miles in a day –
more if they break their trip. This one chose
to doze here. Still half a day to go.

Click to hear the poet read the poem.

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Chris Campbell, from Bristol, UK, was Highly Commended in the 2024 Cobh International Poetry Competition and shortlisted for Canterbury Poet of the Year 2023. Chris' poems appear in publications including Magma, Prole, Ink Sweat & Tears, The Waxed Lemon, Indigo Dreams’ The Dawntreader and Black Bough Poetry. He has two pamphlets published, plus a collection of poems called ‘All Island No Sea’ (Alien Buddha Press, 2022).

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