06/13

vacation voice says you should relax

there is a vacation voice hovering close by.
a blue pool opens for swimming. a snorkel
in the mirror. what we need 
is an ice cream machine in the kitchen.
white luminous soft serve. salt is knocking
at my freckles. a face mask can be turned into
a basinette for a sea gull if you hold both straps.
swing swing. a blue egg. blue water. green kelp.
i want a hammock to be cradled in. i want
two palm trees to sprout 
in the back yard. when i say "tropical"
i mean synthetic orange-yellow candy flavors.
june will leave us sprinkled & caramel.
the vacation voice says spend 
another five cents on the moon & add it
to your package. says one day 
the ocean will dry up so you should love it
while you can. my car drives itself
to the beach without me. i can tell because
in the morning there is sand on the tires
& a box of salt water taffy
melting in the passenger seat. most years, i feel like
a passenger to the story. sometimes 
my car drives itself all week 
& i just hold on. the sun is 
an electric burner. fireflies 
could save us all. i sleep with a window open 
& in the morning we are a float in the channel.
water all around. my dog & i on my bed turned raft. 
the vacation voice is saying we could
get two more nights for the price of one.
we could go to a seafood buffet 
where the crab cakes perch
golden & crisp. a crab steps onto the bed
& plays us a song on his tiny violin.
it is still dark 
& there are the green lights of boats
in the distance. i tell my dog to relax,
that we should go back to sleep if we can.
an apothocary will open in our rib cages.
we will catch soft serve with our cupped hands.
there is something ending in me. 
a single canteloupe falls from the sky
& splits in half. 
once, my dad bought a coconut &
we took hammers to the thing in the driveway
until it cracked with a splash of opaque water. 
white sweet meat. a vacation is coming 
to contort us forever.
there is a photograph to be taken 
with sunglasses swelling larger & larger.
a shoreline severing a hand. i lock
the front door & plug my eyes. 
everything is dripping from the night before.
a wild horse the size of a mouse
roams across the ceiling. i close my eyes 
until the voice scurries 
back where it came from.

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