The paradigmatic symbol of fidelity and devotion, 

Doves, it is said, 

Always

Come in pairs.

Yes, even in Florida they hoot gently like owls, 

And cast quiet glances 

From tree branches and powerlines

At all who walk past —

Dogs, cats, humans, raccoons

When I long for peace,

I think of the dove’s steady, wistful call, 

The hilarious startled chatter he emits after 

His feeding frenzy is disturbed

And his frantic flight, giving up, for the moment, the Birdfeed intended for the peahens and their pea babies, 

Left there on the sidewalk

For all to enjoy 

By our birdfeeder neighbor,

Said neighbor hated by all 

And especially the neighbor across 

Who lost her mind to peacock poo

No one hates the dove, however.

At least not here in Florida.

A completely uneventful bird,

Perfectly adapted for Middlebury,

The dove causes no controversy 

On our street

They are so out of place among the pileated woodpeckers and

The orange-winged and red-beaked parakeets

That even the egrets and ibises must wonder:

What is this dove doing here, roasting in this heat? 

Why isn’t it up north 

In the suburbs

With his Northern birdkin?

It also makes me wonder:

How does he survive

The tyranny 

Of the mockingbirds?