Death of a Flamingo
In Busch Gardens, Tampa Bay,
August 2016, a man murdered
a flamingo.
Her name was Pinky and she loved,
they said, to dance for visitors,
stamping her feet and shaking
her bright feathered body.
She had no fear of humans
which is why her attacker
was able to reach in, grab her
by her delicate neck, fling her
against the wall, he laughing,
as his three children and mother
looked on. I don’t know what
rage inspired him to kill this
lovely creature perhaps he thought
she was too pink but I saw his
bloated beery face on the news
and I knew dark times were
coming; the mob with torches,
pitchforks;
that what is fine in us
would be thrown against the wall
of senseless anger and hate.
**
Published by What Rough Beast Indolent Books August 2017
In Busch Gardens, Tampa Bay,
August 2016, a man murdered
a flamingo.
Her name was Pinky and she loved,
they said, to dance for visitors,
stamping her feet and shaking
her bright feathered body.
She had no fear of humans
which is why her attacker
was able to reach in, grab her
by her delicate neck, fling her
against the wall, he laughing,
as his three children and mother
looked on. I don’t know what
rage inspired him to kill this
lovely creature perhaps he thought
she was too pink but I saw his
bloated beery face on the news
and I knew dark times were
coming; the mob with torches,
pitchforks;
that what is fine in us
would be thrown against the wall
of senseless anger and hate.
**
Published by What Rough Beast Indolent Books August 2017