Palms trees
trapped inside
the Florida resort
remind me of
Playboy bunny
corset teddies.
Something to do
with lighted cords
strangling their trunks.
Garish apricot.
Hot pink bullet points.
Neon green pellets.
Fluffy frond cottontails
swaying sultry
in the hypnotic South.
I sniff for evergreen,
hint of hearth fire,
whiff of snipped mint,
sweet chestnuts
sealed inside
waxy bags,
New York
and its beloved
street corners.
No luck.
Only chlorine
and the aroma
of manufactured
coconut balm.
A little girl
dragging Batman
by his throat
halts beside my chair
at pool edge.
I remember her
from earlier,
the group of boys
who wouldn’t
let her play.
She flashes me
a conspiratorial grin
then flings
purloined toy
into concrete hole.
A miracle then.
A surprise to mark
this holy season.
The decorated trees
surge bright, turning
turquoise water white.
The caped crusader
sinks, comes to rest
among plastic rings
tossed and forsaken
on pool floor.