By Alison Stone
Egret on a busy street in Florida.
Closed shoes obsolete in Florida.
Yearly visits, I stayed in Mom’s shadow,
tried to hide from the mean heat of Florida.
Each avenue flatter than the next. For
my calves, walking’s a treat in Florida.
Bony, pregnant stray yowls, ignored.
Are animals just meat in Florida?
Far cousin to our dark ocean back home,
the minty sea of St. Pete, Florida.
Boyhood beaches, mango trees. For Dad,
no place can compete with Florida.
Though I try Polly, cracker, stone, the parrot
is stubborn or stuck. Repeats, Florida.
Published in Dazzle, Jacar Press 2018