It is so easy to be taken in by pretty. A pretty smile, a pretty girl, pretty in pink, yes, pretty… pretty pink, the colour so loved by… well, you don’t need a list. As pink as a flamingo, like the flock I photographed on our trip to the zoo.
Such a strange creature, the flamingo - they might be pink but something tells me there’s nothing fluffy about them. Just look at their beaks, they could take an eye out at a single peck and knock it through to the back of your brain before pulling it out again and eating it with a single throw of that long fine neck. And then there’s the smell. They stink worse that a fish-gutting factory, and no matter what the water clarity is like before they arrive, after they’ve gone it’s murky – very, very murky. The sort of murky you wouldn’t want to swim in, the sort of murky that really needs to be treated by a water treatment plant or a reed bed… but it’s the eyes that get me more than anything else.
A flamingo’s eye is the coldest thing on the planet; hardly an eye at all, just a black pit surrounded by sulphurous yellow. A trap to fall into, an all-seeing, all-evil, optical trap. I imagine one fixing some poor unsuspecting fish with its eye and freezing it in the water beneath it, hypnotising it with a yellow-cold stare, then slashing down and breaking the fishes back with its beak. The eye of a reptile, a lizard, the devil, no wonder that fossils of flamingos have been found; that is the eye of one of the oldest creatures on earth, a dinosaur… a pink dinosaur.
Pretty flamingo? Not on my life.