Crimson breast above an
Ochre plate
Vivid green against the amber of a
Dying sun
Yellow beak and black talons
Their slide begun
Toward a taste of
Honey
A sudden sound
Heckles raised
A Pounding, barking ball of rage
Returns a startled gaze
The vanquished
Amid
The sound of flapping wings
Returns
To perch above the tray
And live
To slide another day
The victor
All hair and wagging tail
Returns to play
Space secured as if to say
I don’t like honey anyway
and
I know that I may seem unkind
But
I’m just a dog
I’m
Colour blind
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem