Skunkworks

©2017, Olan L. Smith

Woke this morning and a peacock

Was in my bedroom, but I couldn't find a rock

To throw, so I grabbed a tail feather

As it tried to pluck my eyes out, he'd better

Not, as I need to see to write and paint.

He seemed rather irate, yes, it was a he

I can tell these things with birds, you see

The plumage and all, 'tis a dead giveaway.

The peacock was all over the room, and today

Of all days for him to poop on my head.

I grabbed a tail feather as I rose, and I thought this day

Is mine, "On guard!" Its feather was my epee,

How crazy can this be, a bird in my bed, feathers all about,

And sparring with it? Aye, I will not go down for the count,

From this insult, I will not shriek or faint.

Alas, I awake to find a pencil clutched in my hand

As though I am fighting an invisible, yet grand

Demon. I take a deep breath and try to comprehend a vast thought

As I drift off into my bizarre dreams, I wasn't fraught

With worry. I considered myself blessed; I jousted not with a skunk in bed.