Dapper city.
In Florida, the palm branches rustle like neckties.
The ocean and opulent cologne we plunder.
The grass green as the stolen eye
of the dowager or a bruised infant, which is so sad,
found in the trash can among some white receipts
and spaghetti.
I am smoking a cigarette wishing it were over.
The parasols, the gliding waterway ships, the cocktails,
the aces and clubs, the languorous beach stretches,
the strings of pearls hats, wishing it would begin again.