Wetlands

The only thing I feel
is what I taste
she says while riding
in the backseat
of the rusted van
I borrowed from
a friend.

She passes me
a CD and a cigarette
and like the novice
that I am
it isn’t natural
for me to smoke and drive.

The window broke
some weekends back,
so now was always down,
and the pressure
pulls the clouds away
but leaves us all
the stimulating pain.

When I picked her up
she said my eyes
were like an alligator’s
watching heron feathers
glide across the water.

When we get there
she continued
don’t forget
we have to go see
the flamingos.

I make a promise
we will toss them shrimp
and watch them all
turn brighter pink,
then fly away when they
have had their fill.