Pelted

The Pigeons of Paris
are as flowers you can't pluck;
status- cattle of India;
wayfarer freeze twice.
Jungle laws care of their own;
only stray pets my prey undetected.
The street's prized assets roam
enjoying the freedom
of first citizens
such as not paying taxis
or getting into pictures as they pass.
Sitting by the fountain,
i saw divers tree nuts
some coated shades of brown to black
getting thrown at them like confetti.
I tallied the treasuries of the human heart
and found at the bottom habit.
I wept for the flesh pot,
Oh, my that's taboo
plus I had been strongly warned.
Tears flowed...
for what they throw at me.