At the pool’s edge
The snowy eyed mistresses of millionaires
Sit eating hamburgers

On the terrace
The plastic peonies in the coathanger-shaped cages
On the water the sun streaked with butterflies

In Biscayne Bay
An ankle awakes lifting a grunting angel
Green giddy pills in her head or hand

Others long
Dumpy deep red as hell over balustrades
Burnt out cigars tossed to the everglades

The pink motels
With potted pink palm trees
Are where the spades snap tags the yokels leave

A skier
Like a TV star, sulking through the thickening spray
Slit slats the cool mystic drunk of the sea

Noon settles in orange peels
Flooding the fluted fountain flowers
The scummed stone lilies with stone roots

The unchristian ulcer hurts
And flippedeflop faggots on wondrous sandals scan shops
Then even a Cuban stops

Talking of Cuba
That trick that thing done with the Masonic Temple
Keeps it up

Blue and batty
And in the chips, a Nevada disc jockey stepping from his car
Shoots the man walking towards him at Hialeah

The flamingos grudgingly fly.

This Issue

September 12, 1968