The Jealous Flamingo

Life is a pink cocktail of covered muscle and blood,

a competition for an inhale before the last exhale.

Today we remain.

We dance under the morning sun bathing, rocking our heads back and forth, regurgitating the pink crop milk with the music of survival in the background.

A frog jumps into the frame and wants in on the action.

He is not the only one.

Foreign species maneuver themselves towards us as if they can buy their way in with their garish dress and unrealistic conveyance.

They are as out of place as the belly up fish and should heed the warning.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.