'How much a man of substance would pay for a mid-day blowjob in the park?'
II. A cemetery..where the front gate is ajar and swinging beneath a pair of shoes draped over the hovering power lines..Old white Converses..there are small plots of Colonial Spanish families that surround the mosque of Roberto Cassavates..A man of wealth in his time obviously..his grey-stone shrine sitting high in observance of the commoners and their shallow graves..The mimosa tree oblique to the stone, waits with its limbs barely alive.. weltering and waiting in vain for the storm clouds to rain..It is a parched land where these souls rest..but Senor Cassavates, lies in his tomb..cold and damp..his skeleton comfortable.. shrouded from the heat and worms..
III. There are hundreds of dragonflies at every turn of the Pinellas trail..fat, small, red, brown..silent fluttering wings. I wonder if they follow me behind the stores and medical offices on the way..If they remain at a distance from the nurses in the parking lot with their sea green scrubs and their economically safe SUV's..There is a blue crane in a murky pond along the trailside..He stabs the reeds with his long navy beak, looking for minnows or pond skimmers as a feast..But the dragonflies evade the reach of his long, cerulean neck and go about their ways..tagging each other in games of winged folly. Perhaps they smell the lumber from the open window of the wood mills..as it rises from the malta blue-paint..I'm curious if their flight is affected by the rankness of porto-potties and the cacophony of the large generators outside the power plants..or do they simply flit along..stopping seldom to drink from the pools and reservoirs behind the neurology and obstetrician offices..while pregnant women stand on the stoops, lighting cigarettes and talking of healthy newborns..
IV.The market is close by..and as I step to cross the street, a berserk driver swerves instantly to avoid running me down mid-foot..He does not stop..but speeds on by as I spit on his Honda windshield..The fury subsides as I think of the fat steaks I will buy for supper tonight..the lean cuts. I concentrate on my powerful thirst for Mexican beer..and hold off on smoking my last two cigarettes for the time being. Behind the courthouse, where the shade is cool and there are legalities and post habeas corpus..a mature woman in long golden heels sits at the bench across from me. She exchanges greetings (with family perhaps) on her cell phone, loud enough for me to hear and pay little notice..She opens a book and lowers her black shades while I scribble notes on the scenery:
'It is much too hot for the black button-up she wears..and her tan skirt is high showing all the insecurities and weight gain over the years.'
She stands suddenly, and strolls in my direction..As I have only seen her in my peripheral view up until this point;speaking of toilets, birds, industry and dragonflies. She stops within my field of view and stares at my lowered head..the top button of my shirt loosened and showing a sliver of my malnourished chest..no hair to speak of..little muscle anymore..but no appearance of bone either..I do not look up to meet her gaze and she notices my friends..The scorn on her face burns longer than 7 months of Florida sunlight..and swishing her black purse inches from my face..she storms off to another secluded spot of the city..in search of another opportunity for a random rendezvous.
'I am no man of monetary substance or merit.' I write..
'I am far now from the tinge of this city and their obsession with wealth and notoriety.'
'I am longing only for the Pinellas trail..a fat steak..cerveses..and a silent place to wait for my red-haired dragonfly to return to me.'
She will be home shortly..
