Winter
Night
A Palm Beach golf course
The 17th green
Shadows of palm trees
Against a starry balmy night.
I spread out a sheet
I fall asleep
Before dawn
Water wakes me
Not rain
Greens sprinklers
To the West night
To the east the sun
Pink flamingoes surround me
Me and Real flamingoes.
A hot Florida dawn.
Water everywhere.
The Gulf Stream and the Everglades.
Sharks and alligators and golf courses and interstates covering the flatness.
Magical names for towns; Okechobee, Palm Beach, Miami, and Key West the end of all roads.
But before roads
Before the snowbirds
Before the explorers,
Before the slavers.
Before Dixie Highway, before A1A, before 1-95.
Only flamingos, sharks, alligators, deserted beaches and Seminoles
But not today
January 12, 1975
It's not even dawn
It's not even dawn
Grounds men at the work
I gather my things.
I've been in Florida before.
April 1971
Easter Weekend
Fort Lauderdale
Across from the Elbow Bar
With three friends
There was no Tuesday Weld
No remake of WHERE THE BOYS ARE
Only college girls and beer.
Fort Lauderdale only two or three hours away.
I walk to the interstate.
I stick out my thumb.
A car stops.
A Oldsmobile 88
I thank the driver
"South, I'm going south."
So is he.
I was glad to be in his car
AC
80 mph
Flat highway
Flat swamp as far as you can see.
Skip Lauderdale
I been there before.
We make to Miami Beach at noon
Cheap hotel
Art Deco
$15/night
I take a room
In the lobby
A blind piano tuner playing 'ROUND MIDNIGHT
Up and down in the elevator.
Out to the beach
I swim out far
No sharks
Only fishing boats on the Gulf Stream
That afternoon I meet an older woman
At the Club Deuce
Twice my age
Wisha
We retire to her apartment.
Windows open to the sea breeze.
In bed
Wisha cries out 'deeper deeper.'
Like she was paying for it and then again and again
I faked it again and again and then again.
After the last again.
I took a fifty
Back at the Deuce.
A hero.
Cold beer in hand.
Next day
I drive Wisha out to the Everglades
A pink Cadillac
Top down
90 mph.
Sun burning skin
Gators howl in the sea of grass.
The empty road the highest point for miles.
No Flamingos
Only a Cadillac and a black-haired woman
Wisha don't even know my name.
She says one word.
"Here."
We stop.
We do it again.
I whisper Wisha in her ear.
>Alligators roar like drowning dogs
And Wisha screams
I moan
Faking it again.
I love Florida
It ain't cold
But I'm not staying here.
I'm going to California
Santa Barbara
But not until Florida and Wisha are through with me.
Later rather than sooner.
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