malifee: (Default)
malifee ([personal profile] malifee) wrote2016-02-16 03:40 pm
Entry tags:

Poetry

[Note: This was written in October of last year]


I recently spent some time
in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.
It felt
Like someone else's childhood memories
(Soda pops and soft sand and the rattle of coin pushers)
Surreal, unreal
(staring at the hotel wall with a notion of a burgeoning calamity weighing heavily on my mind,
the weather still warm in October until it rapidly cools at 5 O'Clock)
Uneasy
(Confederate flags and Slipknot shirts on the same stretch of road, decaying shops and over-crammed restaurants, a summer that's ending but not fast enough, concealed carry and the remains of after the flood)
Dying heat
(No one works outside of tourism, really:
Nothing to do otherwise
Nothing else
An entire town with only that purpose
The summer is over
The theme parks are closed till March—not dead, surely, not this Americana wonderland
but sleeping, until they are woken
Someday it may sleep forever
When the well dries up)
It would be very easy to make a joke
(Ignorance and bigotry and commercial overload)
(Alcoholism and tackiness and cultural stagnation)
But I don't think
(Students and middle-aged parents come here for the same reason—
get wasted, have a laugh, forget for a while—
What does it mean? Can it mean anything at all?—
The same broken record)
that
(Our cab driver can't support himself once the tourists leave
He's getting out
Cutting and running
He doesn't know what he'll do
He loves talking to people
But he can't go on)
It'd be very funny.