in a cool spring
one legged
in its swaying
state of affairs
the baking sun
dripping off
its damp back and
into wetter water
the flamingo
standing there, looking
into the mirror
of the broken surface
as people watch in
slight irritation
waiting
expectant of something to happen
the flamingo leans
down, slurps
and shudders
the cold water soothing its
sharp lips