Dodo Eraser

The Breakers’ towers nubbin the horizon,
blue in morning’s refraction across the Intracoastal.

Rocks on this near shore catch the pink light,
sloping into the green water
like songs fading with a generation.

Ibises flocking here on the water-pooled concrete
stalk and prod vividly before crossing Flagler.

A man sits on the passenger seat of his old car,
the door open, its missing window replaced
with a black garbage bag duct-taped on.

His brown skin glints the humidity amid an effusion
of weed smell. The pavement’s heat will flay him
when the sun reaches its zenith.

He used to convene with others here,
cooling in the shade of the big trees. But the city
has fenced off the green areas, and the long fishing pier
looks like it’s gotten too much rest.

Anyone can wash in the bathroom, though,
and the view lies there with the other debris
for those with properly-tinted shades.

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Taylor Hagood lives in south Florida and is the author of the recently-published chapbook, Lepidoctora, and poems and reviews in such magazines as A Thin Slice of Anxiety, A-Minor Magazine, Across the Margin, California Quarterly, Cold Mountain Review, Epater, Louisiana Literature, New Croton Review, The River, The Rumpus, Trampoline: A Journal of Poetry, and Twin Bird Review.