Peacock

Peacock, silly he-cock,

how I most
naturally mock

your clockwork, stuttering
patrol,

about the grounds and manor
lawn,

bearing up your feathers,
shoal

of blackeyed mackeral, all
drawn

like knives, or clumps of slithered
coal,

glistening in the dappled
dawn.

'Tis but a rhythm of
control

you've exercised since you were
born.

A plot, a foil, a hot
cajole

to keep a hand upon your
horn.

Dip your tail and cease your stroll
-

Allow yourself to seem forlorn!