South Beach, Miami

The family walking temporarily beside
us in the shadow of Art Deco ladies
who have long since seen their prime
(not unlike me) were chatting in a Nordic
language. Passing through the tables of
a sports cafe, the soccer fans with eyes glued
to the widescreen tube (well, really liquid
crystal) sported shirts the color of their flag
(a little research tells me it was
Argentina's blue and white, where residents
speak Spanish and some tongues that are,
I hate to tell you, very nearly dead.) People on
the beach were clearly from both here
and there and everywhere like heroes in
a Dr. Seuss menagerie and I am wondering
if the foreigners could really think that
this is what we're like? That they have
tasted, smelled America? It seems a country
almost alien, under three hours from my
house just up the road.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014