Menu
Share
Share this story
Close X
 
Switch to Desktop Site

Flamingoes in Minnesota

A joke,

to be tossed at summer's end.

About these ads

And year after year they remain

never migrating with the duck whirligig

or hummingbird chime to the trash

at the end of the driveway.

I watch the flamingoes:

One teeters slightly in the wind,

a dome of snow on its head;

About these ads

the other's neck, bleached gray, snakes downward,

its beak sifts through slush.

Somewhere in Florida,

flamingoes skim warm water,

now and again, tuck one leg,

preen a voluminous, rose-colored wing;

their yellow eyes like suns.

My steadfast birds

don't hear trade winds in palms,

won't fly into a balmy night,

water trailing their feet like jewels.

They accept the snow,

listening to the hush

as it falls on pine boughs, flagstones,

their cool, unruffled feathers.

(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society


Follow Stories Like This
Get the Monitor stories you care about delivered to your inbox.