Poems of Sarasota and Florida by justin spring - HTML preview

THE POET EXPLAINS THE SIMILARITIES

BETWEEN ART, FORT LAUDERDALE, AND HIMSELF,  

I'm in Fort Lauderdale with my brother-in-law Art,

cruising the houses along the canals.

I can’t get enough of this place: the plaster-cast Venuses,

the little San Simeons, and those

towering flame trees, bursting with orange.

Like tall Howard Johnsons.

No doubt about it,

these boys are different; they're two-fisted dreamers.

They build things that please them.

I'm sitting

in the stern, looking back at the wake,

the twin Merc V-6's. Art's on the fly-bridge,

gunning the engine, checking the docks

for possible action. The boy's got it down:

that beer-belly tan, the shaggy-permed hair,

those Don Johnson glasses.

                                                He hits

the wheel hard, starts yelling back, pointing

like crazy. I know what he's thinking: Pier 66:

the turquoise bikinis, the thousand foot yachts.

Have drinks at the bar, right next to Trump.

continued,