Poetry · Poem
Under the Howard Frankland
An exploration of concrete structures and salt water in Tampa Bay.
The concrete pilings drink the bay and grow their ruffs of barnacles beneath the steady hum of tires.
Here the mullet leap in silver curves against the shadow of the interstate, indifferent to the daily commute.
A plastic bag floats like a jellyfish in the green, diesel-slicked tide where the pelican dives.