Miami (In response to Seattle by Tracy Ebberts)

I could never love a city
Whose streets refuse to whisper or
Sewers regret their murmurs
Whose hurricane-tested buildings only bend with the breeze if
They're not built right

Each person thinks he is
Latin
An artist, poet, painter
                                    waiting
At street corners for
Any of it to come true or
A handout at the lights
That go and stop or
Hurry! Don't stop!
(And close your windows, lock your doors)

Ginsbergs galore and Kerouac lore
Cast about the dancing floors
More and more the chatter in the sidewalk café
Turns to just chatter and
Don't flatter yourselves because some one else
Already has
                   (what you want)
A head start on the streets
That spit and sputter and wash into the gutters the night hypersaturated
In neon wasted
                        on dreaming, or singing, or
Maybe just breathing
Another jazzquivering tune into her saxophone
As she hits all her notes she has (within her
Out of tune)
                     enough already
With you

4/15/99