Flamingo

I can’t bend my legs
Like real flamingos do.

Permanently perched

On a rotation of tenants,
I am sun-drained pink
Fooling blue water waves
Of a green lawn.

Had my feathers

Been made of feathers,
They’d be tufted and pestered
By the same reoccurring car alarm
Of each forgetful resident
Like a sing-song bird
Got its throat stuck
In the sing-song,
But instead they lay
Flat monotonous plastic.

Sweltering sun rays

Come down in boiling drops
Like rain without water.

I wonder

When I’ll melt;
Pink Pepto pool

Of no real bird.