Cedar Key
It was an old-Florida, small-town island then:
White-sand roads,
Souvenir shops with seashell ashtrays
and alligators (porcelain and otherwise),
Driftwood-grey restaurants, some on stilts,
one with hearts of palm and
pale green dressing on the salad.
In the parking lot outside another,
balanced on its shell-tail-end
by two men (a third with a hose),
was a giant sea turtle.
(It was still legal to eat them then.)
As big as my then-child’s frame,
it glistened for a moment in water and morning sun,
never to be seen again.
|