Key West, Florida

To Cayo Hueso (Key West)
(Homage to Carl Sandburg whose "Chicago" influenced this poem.)

They told me you are sleazy, drunken, corrupt. All transience, glitter, not to be trusted.
Around a dark, narrow lane, I caught a glimpse of this side of you, once or twice.
But this is the not the face you’ve shown me.

I have seen humor, tolerance and fast friendship.
I have seen passion between blacks and whites, men and men, men and women.
I have seen white herons, drying their wide wet wings in the sun.
I have seen red flame vines, hibiscus and bougainvillea encircling pink porches.
I have seen gruff fishermen feeding comical, curious pelicans, as they talk to them tenderly.
I have seen women in designer loungewear put off eating their own meals to feed homeless cats in murky mangroves.
I have seen an airport security guard feed his raspberry Danish to a confused, lost silver fox.
I have seen a woman who asks for contributions to AIDS relief every time someone photographs her pink-tinted dog.
I have seen mother chickens at 7 a.m., scratching up breakfast in rocks and sand for their clutch of soft yellow peeps.
I have seen dark men in dark suits filing through the cemetery, playing trumpets and singing sultry songs.
I have seen a twilight wedding, whose satin gowns and white tuxes would make Manhattan jealous.

No "soft little city," you are strong, certain, alive.
While other cities homogenize, decay, splinter, you diversify, spruce up and gather people together.

You are not what they told me. Whoever they are, they do not know you.

Deborah S

Submitted: Sunday 15th February 2004, 8:21 AM

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