The Folly

Bougainvillea, acres of it
Induced rainbow
In the irrigation arc
Spray of water, stink
Of nitrogen.
The land is flat, enriched, it yields
Huge alligator pears, and
Who doesn’t like an orange.
The flag of Cuba waves
Over the nursery, the colors of Mexico,
Potted poinsettias.
It’s paradise, the only trouble is
The flower is the serpent here,
This plowing of the soil
As old as Ur
Destroys the wild.

At the car rental
The man speaking Farsi
Checks in the woman
Who says in her accent
She has not spoken Latvian
In twenty-five years.
The turnpike rolls through tollbooths
Till it ends
At giant Wal-mart.
And from there
Continue on past Circle K
Past Robert’s fruit stand
Where they also sell
Boxes embossed with tiny shells
And cowries carved
To each sign of the zodiac.
And then go on
Downstream by inches,
This sea of sedge
Is massive river slow,
To Flamingo Bay
Where there have never been
Flamingoes.

A man builds a castle of coral
Curved and crested like topiary
An oddity, a vision, like Miami
That rises to the Atlantic side.
Globe warms,
Coral dies
And the sea
Will rise.
Meanwhile, without rest, the pickers
Squat and harvest
In the rows,
Beneath straw hats, in worn bleached clothes
They make a sad calico
Quilted from their need and other’s greed
Across the field.
Pastel, the edge of run-down town
In the rain
Buildings painted pink, lavender, pale green
By the prison’s razor wire
And the truck with melons.
And along the side of the road
The poor go on walking
As they do
Everywhere in the world.