Purple Peacock Poem by Matthew Buchwald

It's fine to be a purple peacock pooping on a statue.
Roost there. Roost there forever.
Look at the stains left by the pigeons. Perch on the sword.
Hop around on the horse's rump.
Spread your feathers for the crowd, their laughter is real.
But watch out for the cops. A vagrant, a vandal?
Not so, your high-born eminence. Just getting some fresh air and exercise.

Say cheese for the photographers.
Give an interview to the press.
You are the close confidante of an opera diva, aren't you?
False! We are much more than confidantes.
And the agent of a foreign power, n'est-ce pas? False again.

Then preen yourself.
Be a peacock preening himself in the plaza.
Show off your iridescent feathers in the sun, by the park.
Be a predator watching and waiting for an alligator to climb out of a sewer drain.
Eat the first one that passes by.
Screech at the dog catcher with a butterfly net. It will serve him right.
Be satisfied.
Sleep and let your hundred eyes keep watch over you.