We call him Mr. P.
He stands at the door
each morning
like an emperor -
aloof, with jeweled crown,
and heavily mascarared eyes.

We offer sunflower seeds.
He hesitates, then
with cautious grace,
steps toward the offering,
head jerking awkwardly
from side to side.

He has no home,
this wondrous miracle
of feathered cobalt blue.
At Christmastime,
his tail full-grown becomes
a fan of shimmering eyes.

Alison Cassidy

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/peacock-story-1-mr-p/