27.3185° N, 82.5598° W
Orange Street is where my blonde hair reigned,
now I fill Sarasota socialites with burning rage.
My pointless tattoos sit at the end of manicured fingertips.
John Ringling’s bones watch as the town ages,
Leisurely decaying into the ever-rising shoreline.
The Legacy Trail swallows scraps of Payne Park.
Arcade Monsters feasts on the corpse of Surf Shack,
Gnawing at the bones of a bar an old lover used to run.
Mother stripped me from EL trains for imported white sand.
The delivery room swarmed with Siesta Key sun.
Moonlight gave the annual pineapple drop a shine,
yet my New Year was never spent with drunk tourists.
We would swing stolen whiskey into our systems.
Now I see schoolgirls fall victim to bleached cocaine,
Unable to escape scripted MTV reality shows.
This southern windy city was stolen by the dreams
of old white men in Gucci leather sandals.
They’ve purloined a home that once was mine.
Bird Key sits ageless underneath the lit-up bridge,
the saltwater has intoxicated my hatred.