Romance in Motel Kona Kai
Sanibel
Is the mosquito capital
Of the world.
Mangroves
Find roots in salt water.
Like tangled spaghetti,
They drop "pea pods"
That float in water
And grow into trees.
At the shell museum
We saw the fighting conch
Admired the sailor's valentines.
To Egyptians
Shells represented sex
And immortality.
They placed shells on the eyes
Of their beloved dead
So they could see into the afterlife.
Vegas
We secretly admire this city that erases
Its past like chalk off a sidewalk,
Every year a new tuck or lift
Added to the wrinkles of sand beneath.
It's true, no town should depend
On sin for survival
But tonight if we win
We'll stroke the wild animal
Whose rumbling purr tumbles up
From the belly of the casino
And erupts in golden clattering coins.
Once inside, the sky is always blue--
Night and day as fluid as martinis
On the trays the waitresses carry.
Machines compete for our attention
Promising hope or redemption
With lights that flash brighter
Than a pocket full of stars.
How even to choose which place to play?
There is a flashier one on every street corner.
Do we choose the one with the living statue
Who moves only when dollars fall like leaves at his feet?
All the casinos compete, offering men on stilts
Or ribbon twirlers, opera singers or Eiffel Towers,
Or wedding vows passed out like mints after a meal.
Why visit elsewhere when you can be here, shopping in Paris,
Seeing the pyramids, or taking a gondola ride on the same day
You saw Elvis (or someone like him) singing Love Me Tender and
Gyrating on stage like the jellyfish in tanks at Mandalay Bay--
No hearts, no brains, just translucent bodies
Covering four sex organs laid out like cards on a poker table?
Or if you tire of games and empty promises
(Sometimes the slot machines do sound ominous)
You can go to the circus, laugh and stare,
Just don't try to take any pictures there--
We must take care to leave behind
The floating images in our minds
The look of wonder on each face
Which soon will vanish without a trace
Just as the performers and desert will
Either be covered or replaced.
S.L. Morris lives and works in Indiana.
Archived at http://girlswithinsurance.com/index.php/poetry/42-poetry/196-sm-0410-two and shortlinked at http://frsh.in/ag
