Poetry · Poem
St. Augustine
An examination of tourist monuments and true history in the oldest city.
The sulfur water tastes of stone and iron nails and old decay in the cool, dark pavilion.
Outside, the white-tailed peacocks scream and drag their heavy, colored fans through the dust of the lawn.
The salt-run eats the coquina wall of the fort where the soldiers slept, their names forgotten by the tide.