Along the Gulf

We lay together as though

it was just yesterday:

balloons rose on tropical fumes.

Our balcony filled

with orange balloons.

We laid heavy in a sagging bed,

a circular fan overhead, clicking.

Sunday’s parade passed

below our window.

It was a day for love.

It was a day for baths.

Streetcars clanged,

bursting with eager faces.

I left your arms to take a look,

perching like a pigeon on the rail.

Men crowded the oyster bar;

a streetcar overflowed.

I posed like a whore on the rail.

Spanish songs hung in the air.

Sounds of marimba drifted in the air.

[The title poem from the series, Along the Gulf, published by Spectrum and selected as Poetry Prize Winner]