At the pool’s edge
The snowy eyed mistresses of millionaires
Sit eating hamburgersOn the terrace
The plastic peonies in the coathanger-shaped cages
On the water the sun streaked with butterfliesIn Biscayne Bay
An ankle awakes lifting a grunting angel
Green giddy pills in her head or handOthers long
Dumpy deep red as hell over balustrades
Burnt out cigars tossed to the evergladesThe pink motels
With potted pink palm trees
Are where the spades snap tags the yokels leaveA skier
Like a TV star, sulking through the thickening spray
Slit slats the cool mystic drunk of the seaNoon settles in orange peels
Flooding the fluted fountain flowers
The scummed stone lilies with stone rootsThe unchristian ulcer hurts
And flippedeflop faggots on wondrous sandals scan shops
Then even a Cuban stopsTalking of Cuba
That trick that thing done with the Masonic Temple
Keeps it upBlue and batty
And in the chips, a Nevada disc jockey stepping from his car
Shoots the man walking towards him at HialeahThe flamingos grudgingly fly.
This Issue
September 12, 1968