The Peacock

I’m vain of my hair,

rich golden blonde, because it is

soft and easy to touch.

I enjoy the fact that women pay

for the lips and breasts

that I have naturally.

Some sick part of me is secretly delighted

when a concerned friend tells me to eat more.

But I take the greatest pride in my

eyes,

color changing, turned brilliant green

with an artwork of purple shadow or

softened to a gently shadowed gold.

They stare so blankly, sad and

unseeing

while I imagine the room is

someplace else.