No. 6

Spring 2004

This is where the dead go
on holiday, deck chairs and
loungers laid out on weather
ravaged piers, yacht basins
fronting desert's edge, the sheen
of displaced bodies of water,
sub-divided lots unused for
decades, defunct neon signs
advertising drive-in restaurants,
curb service by waitresses on
roller skates, state of the late 50s
early 60s art of motel making,
doors separated from hinges,
all the furnishings strewn about
outside or re-located in drained
kidney shaped pools paint splotched
and scorched by random fires,
aimless vandals, spontaneous
love fests, orgies; nearby parking
lots silted over, dead brush and
weeds, wilted palms the only
shade, broken sign pocked by
bullet holes, hanging from a metal
chain claims VACANCY; water
front properties for sale, seawalls
facing a drift of dunes now a
graffiti testing grounds, radiance
cloaked by nuclear sundown,
infra-red camera shades, the bartender's
raspy voice inside all those OPEN
FOR COCKTAILS lounges,
no longer has to ask la touristas
to, "name your poison," their drink
requirements have become as self-
evident as moonrise reflected in a
cocktail glass filled with chilled gin,
so cold, it shimmers.

Copyright 2004, Alan Catlin

nidus is an online publication supported by the Writing Program at the University of Pittsburgh's English Department.