The Peacock - Clive Matson

[Larry Robinson]

The Peacock 


The peacock drags its tail behind  
and string-like feathers drape the ground 
until a threat, or mating urge, 
alerts the muscles in its spine.

Rustle! Sigh! Rows of turquoise eyes 
arch up and out, their rims green-brown, 
their cores blue-black. In one long surge 
the tail bends straight. Its colors shine.

Ninety allies stare from the fan 
without a blink. What sense can tell 
if they're for show, or if they're live?

The peacock struts. "See this? See that?"
An inner mind has touched each cell, 
and each one blossoms with an eye.

	- Clive Matson