Beautiful pathos of a modern girl,
hip-huggers in place of an embrace.
I know you see through fun-house eyes,
like an animated Steve Madden ad.
Do you find your self-image
desiccated like a dry flower pressed
between the glossy pages of a magazine?
There you are, perched like a songbird
with nothing of your own to sing.
No, my peacock, you parrot me.
Your only reason to be is to preen and repeat.
Recitation sans understanding,
sounds oh so sweet over that pop beat.
If I put truth between two hamburger buns,
or baked it into apple pie, would you eat it then?
Or would that be too many carbs
mixed with too many syllables,
enough to make your head spin
under that rhinestone tiara?
There’s a world out there, sweet thing.
Just look past your mascara.

07/16/2006

Author's Note: Revamp of "Parrot" from 2004. I always liked the social commentary of Parrot, but it just didn't flow correctly. This is a piece that has underwent many revisions, a total overhaul of the metaphore and various other tampering.

Posted on 07/16/2006
Copyright © 2026 Lacy D Phillips