It's just a kite

My eyes occasionally focus and follow the taught string high into the air where a lame dragon limps among the clouds. The wind tugs and twists the body. A stiff breeze kisses his plastic scales. His left hind leg dangles, useless, at his side. The string digs into my fingers as I hold it tight. The waves beckon but the dragon cannot be bothered. He will not be fooled again, and carelessly plunge into the depths for that is how he injured himself the first time. Somewhere, far beneath his spinning tail and fluttering limb, lies his bone of plastic sinking into the mucky bottom of the Chesapeake.