At the southern tip of Key West, beachside,
a café opens its groaning shutters to palm trees.
Pigeons rise and flutter toward the sand
where land and ocean meet, of one mind.
Tourists stroll the long blocks as a man
in a gold suit bicycles down the lane,
a blue parrot perched on his shoulder.
Rheumy-eyed shrimpers congregate in parks.
Jamaican nannies rouse to their charges.
At the other end of Duval Street, a bakery's
blue awnings overlook the Gulf. A lizard
hugs the door jamb. Pecans on waffles,
purple lantana, climbing ferns.
Dew glistens on coquina walls.
All this tropical blooming. All this moisture.
Not one single drop of you.