Passerine Poetry: Flamingo Watching

by Kay Ryan

Wherever the flamingo goes,

she brings a city’s worth

of furbelows. She seems

unnatural by nature—

too vivid and peculiar

a structure to be pretty,

and flexible to the point

of oddity. Perched on

those legs, anything she does

seems like an act. Descending

on her egg or draping her head

along her back, she’s

too exact and sinuous

to convince an audience

she’s serious. The natural elect,

they think, would be less pink,

less able to relax their necks,

less flamboyant in general.

They privately expect that it’s some

poorly jointed bland grey animal

with mitts for hands

whom God protects.

Passerine Poetry