Lauderdale by Marc Frazier

Shirtless, young volleyball players eager to be seen stretch every muscle to the sound of construction rigs in wind. I thought I’d be sure of so much by the time I was this old. Hypnotized by the palms’ sway, that blue sky and white building haze, is there still time for my words to matter? The older men cavort like teenagers on the gay beach off Sebastian Boulevard. I think of Death in Venice when I see a stunning, blonde youth saunter by. There is always time I think. We all matter. Don’t we? I turn onto Birch Road where I know the names of resorts lined up sharing walls. I buzz myself in, jealous of the hushed voices of a couple in Speedos. Will I ever be happy for others? Will I ever join in? A gecko scurries into brush. The pride flag waves high above the pool. In my perfect room the A/C drones like contentment. Anonymous tourists slather on sunscreen as the scents of the tropics reach me here. The smell of chlorine lingers as I doze over my journal poolside. Listening to others laugh during happy hour, I keep myself to myself. The stray calico cries into dusk. Luxury cars cruise oceanfront along A1A. Turtles nest in sand. Orchids cling. Surfboards and beach chairs are stacked. Beachwear peels from bodies as skin stings with heat all over Florida. I’ve not been mistaken all this time. 

Marc Frazier has widely published poetry in journals including The Spoon River Poetry Review, ACM, f(r)iction, The Gay and Lesbian Review, Slant, Permafrost, Plainsongs, and Poet Lore. Marc is the recipient of an Illinois Arts Council Award for poetry and has been nominated for a Pushcart Prize and a “best of the net.” He is a Chicago-area LGBTQ+ writer who has appeared in the anthology New Poets from the Midwest. Marc’s three poetry collections are available online.