the gulf breeze makes us cough. we sneeze. our noses run.
on the beach dead fish line the high water mark.
people set up their beach chairs amidst carnage;
i see two castles made of dead fish
instead of sand.
the water sparkles, but squeamish,
we won’t swim in the die-off.
we are in florida,
where they can’t give away enough plastic.
our groceries double and triple bagged;
we are complicit,
when in rome.
i run inland in the early morning, inhaling
the stink of fallen palm fronds rotting a natural death.
in this red tide state
waiting in line for homemade ice cream
grandson in my arms
the guy in front of me wears this t-shirt:
you ask why anyone needs an A-15 and I ask why anyone needs a whiny little bitch, yet here you are.
he makes a point.
the ice cream is delicious. we are so very happy and the sun won’t quit and we are coughing and can’t swim. there’s a boil water advisory so we drink bottled water so more plastic. Another trip to the store,
the line of cars stretching for miles.