Rare Ibis Is Sighted

With gaudy hues and happy honks, The glossy ibis invades the Bronx. The damn thing’s lost, he’s way off course, To go anywhere near the Grand Concourse.

He’s seeking food, he needs a lesson; He flies into a delicatessen. They greet him there with ribald jibes. They won’t believe he’s a glossy ibis.

The inhabitants of the concrete boredom Ken the sparrow and know that at Fordham The Roman eagle nests, and all over the prowl Are tracks and roosting posts and rookeries Of kosher fowl.

But the iridescent incandescence of a gastropodophagous sprite Symbolizing “rarity” should know better than to light Within the range of BB-brains whose “Hark” Brings more with BB-guns; so to the park He flew, not sighted yet Nor in my rhymes Depicted. Lost, revolted, sick but still Alive, His telescopic eyes sight an executive.

“Please, sir” he says, “I’m no faker; I’m a glossy ibis, how can I reach Jamaica?”

The bird finds out— He catches the F train. He won’t go to the Bronx again!