Bedraggled, she looked this morning,
standing at the back door
in her oversized feet.
We'd not seen her since she lost the chicks -
all four of them.
Foxes, I suppose...
(I guess they get hungry too)
Next door told us she'd grieved
for ages afterwards,
pacing up and down
and making hollow honking sounds.
Her topknot looked chewed,
as if the mice had been at it,
her dusty feathers lace-like,
transparent in the sun.
She pecked the seed I gave her
compulsively,
percussively,
head lifting up and down
like a tiny jackhammer.
Poor little Miss P,
how I longed to hold her in my arms...
but all I could do was to call off the dog.
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/peacock-story-5-poor-little-miss-p/
