A big fat pigeon

The best I can do

A big fat pigeon landed on my windowsill today,
Quite as big and fat as pigeons you might see on a green or a statue or near where people play chess in the park
But bigger even.
And I thought to myself, this fella must be put in a poem,
To tell everyone how deep everything is,
Not because of him preening, because of me. Because the need to describe a big fat pigeon on a windowsill is all I can think about right now.
Which makes it important.
So now you have to know it's important too because I said it.
It might help if I tell you he seemed like a messenger or whatever,
Or maybe his feathers were like glinting with love or something.
But really he was a big fat pigeon I wrote a poem about.
Unless his filthy old feathers had layers.
I just saw a pigeon. I'm not that deep unfortunately.