Page 71 of The Black Flamingo

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I look over my homework for the first time

since we got here.

Lighting a cigarette,

Grandad asks, “Are you studying hard?”

“Yes, Grandad.” Looking down

at my notes, which Daisy wrote for me,

I add guiltily, “Daisy usually helps me.”

“She’s your girlfriend?” he asks,

with a big smile.

“No, she’s my best friend.”

“This is the same thing?” asks Grandad.

“Almost.” I smile.

Grandad goes back inside.

He draws my attention

to the news: the story, a black flamingo

has landed on the island.

An expert on screen

explaining it is the opposite

of an albino. “Too much

melanin,” he says. Camera pans

the salt lake full of pink

but my eye is drawn

to that one black body

in the flamboyance.

The following evening.

My beach towel and shorts dry

on the balcony.

Couples on mopeds ride

past the house. Dogs walk

humans before dinner.

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