flamingos

there is a
plastic bag
held captive
by the breeze
on my patio
as i stare
out into the
bright world
it dances
clumsily against
the blue cooler
scrambling back
out of view
before dashing
itself once again
into the offensive
cooler blocking
its escape route

it moves with
the same pliability
of an octopus
boneless except
for the hidden beak
trying to find
a darting fish
among the arid
bleached texas coral

i am a plastic flamingo
driven into the
cracked thirsty soil
neon pink plumes
a faded brittle mass
of cracks watching
a plastic bag and
pretending it is an
octopus rather than
face the utter misery
of random existence
in an uncaring universe
too lazy to move the
empty cooler and let
the bagtopus swim free
in my own petty act of
casual callousness

we are all trapped
bashing our heads against
invisible walls as we
scream to be heard
few of us have the inherent
panache of a fluttering
empty plastic bag
a row of pink flamingos
standing on one foot
glaring at the world
with blank indifference

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