I say, it’s Florida the weather’s great!
Yeah, food’s good, beach water’s warm.
The condo full of weighty furniture—
a museum house with doilies and mirrors.
It’s 1966 here, forever.
I say, we’re eating Cuban food: black beans,
rice, fried plantains.
Elaine’s photo hangs on the wall,
stares back at me;
Why does someone die of breast cancer at 38?
Her pearl earrings still sit in a porcelain dish on the dresser.
Dark out; 22nd floor, traffic snakes down Ocean Blvd.—silent and eerie
white headlights of lava pour through the highway.
It’s lonely here I don’t say
to the voice on the other end.
I say, There’s a pool by the beach, heated, the old people
like it; first I pop into the jacuzzi.
Lenny Schwartz likes nipples, can’t keep his chin up.
Lenny! Look at me!
I say, can’t wait to dig into the poetry.
I continue to read my juicy novel.
Everyone’s half naked –it’s a sea of breasts!
I walk around with my wool sweater on, too much air conditioning.
I say, 10 days is not long enough—
while I check the date and time for my return flight.