CHAYOTE

My parrot is a splash of color
on an otherwise steel gray sky
a drop on the page from a tourmaline pool,
a brushstroke that can fly.

My parrot is cantankerous,
he squawks and bites and screams
and puffs up like a bellows
If I dare disturb his dreams.

My parrot is a bright green candy
for a boa to pop in its mouth,
a hungry hawk tore a hole in his wing
so I hide him in my house.

My parrot dances on his perch,
a clumsy avian tango
I stroke his red and sky blue head
and feed him bits of mango.

My parrot is a refugee
a stumbling, homeless little mess,
a feathery jigsaw puzzle piece
missing from the wilderness.