Archive
04/29/11
Piña Coladas
This midafternoon, On arriving back in St. Louis, After a relaxing twelve-day vacation In south Florida, I step off the jet bridge, Into a desolate airport Recently half-ravaged With shadows and blasted glass Shattered, battered, and scattered By a catastrophic tornado. Though shock should alert me To the godless possibility Of my own obstacled dislocation, I've lived too long Not to recognize That shit happens, Feces obtains, Crap eventuates, Ca-ca occurs, Turds transpire, And that if the gods (Or at least the barkeeps In the Admiral's Club lounge) Are amenable (willing?), I just might get some piña coladas Gushing down my gullet And tailwind back to Hollywood, In my own private head-jet, Sprawl naked, In a bungalow by the beach, Stroll the Broadwalk, In flip-flops and bikini briefs, Ogling the thong-clad throngs Of arm, leg, and crotch candy... Until the next Andrew or Hugo Blows me back to St. Louis, Where I'll again find myself At the Admiral's Club lounge, Begging for another round Of on- or off-the-house Piña coladas.
04/29/11
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