by Maureen Seaton
Now I’m almost killed (again) on the Snapper
Creek Expressway, my shadow left behind on
blacktop like a map of this precarious sinking
city. So I invent an odd task for myself–
ephemera, I decide, harmless but illegal, that
tissue in felon wind, a blip beneath radar–
and I enjamb the law in small ways, felonious
poems sailing from the sealed lips of mermaid
sculptures, the tentacles of banyans, stuffed
into bottles I toss into Snapper Creek (the
creek, not the suicidal highway), begging fish,
fowl, and humankind: O, Miami, save us.
Sonnet for Snapper Creek first appeared in Panhandler Magazine.