Home is Key West, A Fragment

728 Elizabeth Street.

Sticky heat

disturbed by a lazy fan

and a chipping,

painted white balcony.

Sagging cushions

rest in white wicker chairs.

The air smells of salt,

cigarettes,

and gasoline.

Cicadas whine

as a hum builds

until a plane soars overhead,

white underbelly exposed.

Quickly it decreases,

shrinking into the sky,

leaving behind white trails

spelling out a goodbye.

The Royal Poinciana

reaches across the street,

offering its flowers

as if on a first date.

Branching out

like an umbrella,

but it doesn’t do well

to shield from the showers

that are it’s

falling

flowers.

They drift down to

the street below,

filled with the gentle

tisks of bike spokes.