A few frivolous beheadings

The lawn flamingoes have been acting peculiarly.
In fact, I was recently informed of their plotting an uprising.
Not to worry, I squelched their plans with some nasty rumors
and a few frivolous beheadings.
Still, it had me worried, and I wondered
at the private avalanches of pressure
which must come from the day-to-day
responsibilities of being a lawn flamingo.
All those sugar afternoons and scotch-drunk evenings.
I plopped down on the grass and locked eyes with Roderigo,
one whose betrayal had hurt me most, I think, of all.
I tried to tell him I was sorry,
to console him for all his deep-rooted angers.

He but stared back, and after a moment, declared
"We were nothing to begin with, no home, or birth.
Just dust, dust and bitter irony."

The hollowness of his voice struck me like a knife.