Woodpecker

That woodpecker,
his beak chattering
on the aluminum light pole,
won't listen.
Maybe it's too noisy to hear.
Well, good luck, buddy.

Carrabelle

Where the Carrabelle River
flows into the gulf, oddly,
Crackers outnumber Yankees.

When asked about dogs on the beach,
the young desk clerk tilts her head to say,
"Well, I don't see why not."

Camp Gordon Johnston,
where troops trained for D-Day,
hangs to history by its fingertips.

The Franklin Inn,
the Fisherman's Wife,
Hog Wild Bar-B-Q,
&

Fathoms bar,
sunglasses & grey beards,
tattoos & desert camo netting,
sea breeze & my dog, Pinky,
with a cup of ice.

Carrabelle has no stop lights,
but you may stop if you like,
and if you don't like it,
just keep on going, pal.

The Forgotten Coast
is best left forgotten.

Apologies to John Prine on Valentine's Day

Fist through drywall,
fist through a door,
dishes all broken
right there on the floor.
Well, it looks like something
Picasso would paint,
a mere matter of canvas,
but, honey, it ain't.
It's the sins of our fathers
and our mothers, too;
the sins of the Nazis
(Whoa!),
the sins of the Jews,
so shake it, don't break it,
and I'll tell you what,
those old men there
were checking your butt.
Sunrise, pot pies,
Rice-a-Roni,
white bread and mustard:
It's all baloney.
Now, you're leaving me
for another jerk.
I don't understand it,
but whatever works.
I'll gird up my loins
and pack up my clothes.
You know,
I always loved you
in that there pose,
arms all akimbo,
head to one side,
hair pinned up in back:
Take him for that ride.