SALEM-WITCH PEACOCK
BY ELIZABETH SOUTHWOOD
(c) 1997
A neighbor’s peacock,
aquamarine,
ultramarine-
blue and green
struts on our roof,
a live weathercock,
shrieks like a Salem witch.
He jump-flies up with a clatter,
a flapping, a squall.
His claws grab,
clutch the gutter,
rake our roof
as he scrabbles along
the shingles.
He spreads his tail,
shimmies, then
tick-tocks across
to the other side,
jumps to the fence,
then the driveway,
preens in my car’s
silver bumper,
observed quietly
by our cat.
The other day I forgot
my broken rib and reached
for something, shrieking
inadvertently in agony.
My husband came into the room,
asked quizzically, “Is the
peacock in the house?”
Not - so far. But he
doesn’t know about the
three-way mirror in the
dressing room.
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