By Sandra Beasley Sandra Beasley
We gaze into your eyes, eyes, eyes, eyes.
We forget the display is blind.

Your fanned tail really a cupped palm,
gathering each hen’s quiver to your ear,

your feathers the green-blue glamours of
reflective absence. No one

ever praises the ass of the peacock,
grin of quills that does the heavy lifting,

or how you eat anything from ants
to Styrofoam, from cheese to chicken.

Road roamer, flower devourer:
the one who’ll pick a fight with a goat.

Preen all you want. What I love of you
will be the bare undercarriage,

the calamus. I am done with beauty.
Only a blinking eye can measure the light.

Source: Poetry (May 2012).


This poem originally appeared in the May 2012 issue of Poetry magazine

May 2012
 Sandra  Beasley


Sandra Beasley is the author of I Was the Jukebox (W.W. Norton, 2010), Theories of Falling (New Issues, 2008), and Don’t Kill the Birthday Girl: Tales from an Allergic Life (Crown, 2011).

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Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Nature, Animals

Poetic Terms Free Verse

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Originally appeared in Poetry magazine.

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