Flash your colors, bright.
Flex your feathers, hide the imperfections.
Sweet coos, soothing,
like the sound of water flowing
from the bath. Take a
dip, wash the dirt from your wings.
What’s done is done, no changing
that. Open your mouth, words will rise.
Regurgitate what your mother
told your father. I love you.
Watch his eyes, and his, and his
sparkle with delight, just his type.
But you’re not his type, or his or his,
saying the perfect things
at the perfect time.