Seventy-eight: The Plastic Pelican

The plastic pelican pops along, unperturbed
by the ragged affairs of the man-made current.

Bobbing along, bubbling syllables
only I can catch.

As I lie, horizontal but
feeling vertical,
I envy it s rusty roots reaching
the sea bed it did not make
but still must lie in.

I envy the plastic pelican:
plastic, anchored, fake

but not sad.

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Published by

Alexia

I drink, I laugh, I smoke, I write.

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