'MIAMI' (a poem)

Decadent sun spoiled landscape littered with dreamers and hedonists and homeless and hispanics and old people come here to die. Convertibles thump thump the bass loud on streets lined with art deco pretensions and gaudy neon- the vanity of Architects the delusion of wealth. Southbeach with its silly men in speedos and bare chests. Models skinny and proud with long legs and disdain for the macho boys who shout them out. Umbrellaed sidewalk cafes that boast $10 beers. Clubs that fill the night with latin beats and disco drones. Surprised to find the street musician playing a gentle guitar. All along the shoreline Spanish houses and faux Spanish condos bleached orange and pale pink in the unforgiving sun. See the tall palms quivering in the sticky breeze. Elegant trees now decorative elements in a sanitized landscape. White stucco walls separate the upscale white-washed community from the grease-stained hot tarred bottom of the barrel where sun-burned bums lay in piss soaked alleys using frayed backpacks as pillows. A relic of the wandering that brought them South seeking warmth and a new life now lost in booze and bad dreams. Every morning across the street from my hotel a strange rasta / reggae man pulls up in a battered black buick to buy a newspaper. He wears only denim shorts and his hair is long matted dreadlocks cascading overfrail brown shoulders. His seat belt is a rope. The queers crowd one stretch of the white beach like a horde of slick shiny bronzed seals anonymous and content in the protective comfort of the group. Along Ocean Drive tourists gawk at the empty palace of Versace shrine to vanity ghost-filled home of the murdered icon. Miami is a playground for rollergirls and skateboard boys boulevard cruisers and fashion freaks freeky people fun seekers sun bathers. Some fun. Not for everyone. ©Jerry Lee Kirk CLOSE WINDOW