Thursday, February 27, 2014
CROWD: Hail...to....the Ma-as-ster!
Master Peacock bless us here!
With your insightful eyes and never failing ear!
Tell us all your tail does see!
Reveal your critical dexterity!
PEACOCK: My friends you’ve been so gracious
To suggest I’m perspicacious
And I can’t call your assessment
I deplore the great disparity,
Bestows a rare sagacity
Beyond other birds’ command!
And if I may be provocative,
A wiser, more evocative
Derrida or Foucault
In my dazzling derrière looms:
Yes I’m poli-perspectival
In my polychromic plumes!
CROWD: He’s poli-perspectival
In his polychromic plumes!
PEACOCK: It’s true that my proclivity
Toujour the polysemious
The linear jamais.
Yes, all matters hermeneutical
Are to me pharmaceutical;
The thrill of Deconstruction’s
What I privilege today.
Sure, of all the dazzling fashions
That could e’er excite your passions,
This doyen of the haute couture
Will make the others pale!
Taj Mahal’s a paltry palace
And Aurora Borealis
Makes a petty, pallid show
Next to my iridescent tail!
CROWD: The Northern Light’s a sorry sight
Next to his shiny sparkly tail!
Master Peacock, won’t you, please,
Tell us everything that your tail sees!
Master Peacock won’t you say:
Are we in the style of today!
PLUMP HEN: Does my dress reveal my figure?
PEACOCK: Why, I’d call it “lard-o-scribular!”
DUCK: My quack?
PEACOCK: It goes...?
DUCK: Just “quack.”
PEACOCK: “Aphoristical,” I’d say.
OTHER HENS: And our clucking?
GUINEA HEN: He speaks so—
TURKEY: And, Master, do please tell us
If our farm is a-okay!
PEACOCK: Well, the sunflowers are van Gogh-esque;
And quite Edgar Allen Poe-esque
Are the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells
I hear ringing in my ears!
The garden smells too peat-ish
But the apples are Magritte-ish
Your allusions are both rural
And post-modernist, my dears!
CROWD: Our allusions are both rural
And post-modernist, my dears...!
Then the song shifts, as a parade of grotesque show roosters arrives to be assessed by the Peacock.