Consider the pigeons of the city, how in their filthy swoop and dive they fatten on dusty Dorito crumbs; consider their evolution through generations of squawk and squalor, peck and fight. (And what did it take for that one, strutting his kingly amethyst ruff, his neck sheen of subdued emerald, his fat gray feathers of survival, to survive here?) Consider the homeless man outside Albertson’s, approaching every car with his rags and Windex, whose far-distant ancestor was able to track and kill the wildebeest, the antelope, and the cape hare. Consider how far he has come, listening to his Walkman between customers, and yet how faithful he stays to the wild dictates of seek and hunt and gather, scoping out the best shelters for meals, the cleanest beds, the one tight face still able to open. Consider your bank account, dipping like a low-flying bird, then spreading wings and planing over the fields of dead numbers, canceled checks, ancient pay stubs, long afternoons bought and paid for in boredom and lost purpose. And the live bodies of your brothers and sisters, crushed in the trash compactor of Unwanted Ads. Consider yourself, marching in and out of these institutions in your skirt and nylons, leaving ferocious lipstick tracks on styrofoam coffee cups, your name and address on application forms, like one of your ancestors peeing on a thorn bush.