The ostrich will give itself its own name,
anoint itself in pearls, stare in the mirror
as it dresses and undresses its body.
The ostrich enjoys a spectacle,
draws attention to itself: bedazzled
sunglasses, a smirk, a dance number.
It hums a rabid melody, reverberant
as a marrow bone. Incandescent
as a carnation. A brass lamp
free-falls onto shag carpet.
The ostrich whistling all the while.
The ostrich never looks at itself the same way twice.
Its gaze always shifts from lounge singer to swallow’s song
to star-struck and croaking. In a mirror, it wears
a wig: a black, curly bob, squeezes its feathers
because no one else does. A rose hip in the cornfield,
the ostrich grows weary of itself.