Site Meter

Wednesday, June 04, 2008

In East Park

By day, in the pool,
where the teals splash,
the hottentot teals,

to the sound of the peacocks,
peacocks in heat,
and the curassow,

the firework bird going off
with a bang, it
happens, all of it

happens, and I
will not say what,
while the guinea pigs

scatter, their necks
and backsides
as one, decide

it’s worse over there
and come back,
envying the orange

bishop his perch, and how
to him too it happens;
but why spell it out,

what with the peacocks
in heat, the curassow’s
screech like a whoopee

cushion deflating,
and the llamas tossing
and trotting, happens

too freely
and indistinctly
for misunderstanding,

the one thing necessary,
whatever it was:
that guinea pig has it,

he’s getting away,
and don’t expect help
from a peacock in heat,

but now I remember,
it all comes back now,
and if only

the curassow’s song
would leave me
in peace, or I could

just see you
(are you still there?)
through the peacock’s

fanned tail, there is nothing,
nothing, I would
rather discuss.


Image found here.

No comments: