Tour du Floride

I actually really enjoyed Florida, but I saw a lot of things that maybe I should not have.

A smartphone in one hand
     barely visible in the sunlight
and a brown-bagged tall-boy
     wetted from the humid air.

No hand for the small son
     amazed by the ocean.


     once a high place of culture,
     bright colored cabarets,
     afro-cuban beats down alleys,
     and Hemingway's house.

     littered with 2-for-1 drink specials,
     diseased waters and sands,
     sedated natives,
     and Hemingway's glass-encased office.

Jealousy spawned from photos of margaritas
     mojitos and daiquiris.
and cuban sandwich shoppes assimilated
     Philly's finest grease buns.

Buffet's lurking in between the walls of
and the kitty's boneyard is expanding
     with the frail descendants of the
     plentiful tigers of the Sun.

Landfills are covered with eighteen hole
     courses, lined with rum runner
     vomit and the bitter ends of cigars.

Limp crack chicas pump up their hair
     and run around the streets in heels
     looking for their 'daddy.'

Silver-lined cars blast down those same
     streets throwing empty cups of ice
     into the loose cleavage of those chicas.

All the while, the overweight tourists
     dream in condominiums and hotels
     about the next $100 breakfast.
and the restaurant bussers and chefs
     lie in bed awake, glaring at
     the postcards they collected, skimpily
     taped above their beds.
2 Responses to “Tour du Floride”
  1. This is fabulous, so descriptive and such a deep analysis of what you survey. :)

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