The storks are smart, not only smart--
but pretty enough to skewer
the word 'purer' with a white-on-white
the envy of any house-marm's weekday
wash. Take heed, Ye hawkers of detergent
wares, lascivious for new insignia.
Send old trademarks to old obliv-ia,
Use a winged design to fly away grime.
And, while you're at it, add the color red
for bloodshed in the marketplace,
a perfect hue for Madison Avenue.
Wood Storks Rock! In tropic time,
they shelve the haven that always
saved them. They know a storm with
a woman's name can put to shame all
others, and when's she's done, and
on the run, they return to band
in motherland. The moment seized:
lost in lust for oedipal trees.