Compass

Mostly looking south these days
I wake up looking south
Feet south head north
Don’t know what that means
On the train the windows face north and south
But I always sit on the south side
Maybe it’s my path
Having left Florida
Finished
But there it is always
A few hundred miles south
I can’t see it
With my eyes
But I know what it feels like
To be there
And can be there
Whenever I want
I know there are changes happening
Right now
But the landscape doesn’t have much to do
With the way it feels to be there
Of course it has an effect
But not as much
As a developer would think
You can’t change the stink of mangroves
Or the sounds of pelicans
Or a Cuban meal cooked in a pot
You can cover all this up
With concrete
Neon
And chain restaurants
But not for very long
And never at all for those who call themselves
Locals
Some my friends
Must be looking north a lot lately
Because I hear talk
Of things migrating
But those shifts are seasonal
Even if they span several years
You can flock somewhere else
But not for very long
And never completely
Because when we think of
Being finished
It is really just like a compass
That has rusted stiff
In one position
After a few good shakes
Things seem to adjust
Back to what they always were
And even a broken compass
Has no effect on direction
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3.28.08