Flamingo in Forsythia
Cannot be content with cardinal,
With chickadee, mockingbird, and woodpecker,
Cannot be content with what naturally seeks you
Or at least what appears naturally around you.
Take ten of us and lodge us in the rain-soaked dirt
Where the forsythia welcomes spring like a clown
With egg-yolk hair and lie on the ground snapping
Photos we have no choice but pose for.
Is it enough? Will any flock of flamingoes satisfy
The urge toward plastic whimsy, exotic sky,
The lithe-limbed awakening of blighted soul
Wanting more, wanting new, wanting, wanting?