The Florida sun says yes as it sits on my back.
A huge raccoon says enjoy as it paws a find from someone’s lunch.
The alligator, banked on the berm, doesn’t care.
A winding path of rich, dark chocolate courses through my body,
collides with the headache the doctor promised,
chocolate one of his don’ts.
I hear the voice I have chosen to ignore, take off my shoes,
walk barefoot in the tide.
Royal terns flock in the February sky. Crowns gleam
as they rise and swoop in auric arabesques.
Pelicans are swans gliding on waves;
ibis, one-legged yogis on sand.
I ask myself, on this opulent afternoon,
is there any other way to live but
© by Mary Jo Balistreri.
Used with the author’s permission.