Gulf of Mexico
All & nothing left of the Gulf of Mexico, but praise in memory? (Or
devastation in imagination?) Say, Veracruz in '74, when Manuel came up
with that portable typewriter, while we refused to go home till Nixon stepped
down, or walked up the steps of the plane waving his half-assed Nazi salute.
Later, my father would love the veranda of the Hilton at Clearwater watching
the water boil. From our deck at the older hotel dolphins celebrated sunset
close to shore almost walking fin & arm with local strollers. Toward Anna
Maria Island the Skyway Bridge makes one forget any trouble in paradise,
until yesterday when with the brown sheen spill of oil threatening wetland
marshes, estuaries, & native habitat of outer reef islands of Louisiana &
Alabama, the CEO for Exploration & Production at British Petroleum claimed
there weren't, "enough resources in the world to fight this thing offshore."
For those affected by Big Money's irresponsibility toward the Gulf Coast, this Time, last Time, & every Time.—RG
Robert Gibbons's 6th book of prose poems, Jagged Timeline, a bilingual American/Danish translation of 64 pieces selected & introduced by Bent Sørensen, is forthcoming from EYECORNER Press, Roskilde, DK. He is poetry & fiction editor of the interdisciplinary journal Janus Head.