Flamingo

Tiny pink, plastic bird, floating in my rum.

A stir and a sip, hoping here a man might come,

To chat and flirt and wink and laugh, until the drink is done.

And ask me what I’m doing here, a portrait in the sun.

He dances lightly with his tongue, and I am most impressed.

Casual in his summer vibe, but noticeably dressed.

Two buttons wide, the others tight, soft linen on his chest.

Another drink will surely loose the buttons on my breast.

The bird leans on the rim as if he’s had enough to drink.

Tiny pink flamingo looking regal and distinct.

I whisper to him softly, asking for his best advice.

He whispers back impatiently: more rum, more fruit, more ice.