Dropped By A Peacock

I can no more justify these poems
than can the pyromaniac

his conflagrations. We both
stand back, the pyromaniac

in his alley, I on my hill, 
each of us loving

the leap of our flames.
His are gazelles but mine

are just feathers
dropped by a peacock.

by Donal Mahoney

Email: donalmahoney@charter.net