Ma took me to Shark Valley. Ma is not the bird. She is the woman taking a photograph of the bird. I took the photo of ma photographing the bird. When I grow up, I want to be a bird. The kind that swims underwater like a snake. Ma was pissed cause there are no sharks in shark valley. Only gators and snakes, birds and fish, bikes and plastic bottles.
This is not a shark, ma said. I know, I said. Stupid gator, ma said, sleeping like it’s 1999.
This is a bird. 10 seconds after I photographed “This Is A Bird”, the bird pooped. It had the runs. Ma and I ran cause it stank. I swear.
The “Road To Know Where” led us to a tower of babel. In other words, we ran into a family from Germany who spoke German. We made fun of them in English. They made fun of us in German. After that, we hugged. It was Sunday. The day of the Lord.
This is what happens when the sun and a cloud have sex. God is born, ma said.
Another thing: Birds are not afraid of anything. Not even ma.
Another thing: In the end, Shark Valley was like heaven. Even God spoke through the sawgrass.
Another thing: The cloud on the left, the wisp of a thing that looks like an exploded Pringle, its name is Marvin. He was starving for love, so ma and I blew him a kiss. He didn’t catch it, but we know that in our hearts he is thankful. Just like we were thankful for him.