By Billy Hands
All my little pretties have cascaded up from earth
at a point where coral melts into the Keys,
velvet daggers drawn on a lion’s crest
catch the mangrove mystic Mercury.
Stop light white, knives a channel of red.
Weave through a tattered town’s bridge repair.
Yellowed wax maps on seven miles of stilts,
where galleons gold treasures disappeared.
Magician’s fingers sift through grains of sand
as sun sinks into Cuban skies.
Top hats filled with coins from human hands,
wink at smiles and tip the passers by.
Sunset at the pier and packing up,
one more treasure softly head back East.
I get anxious from the flashing lights
Skip the melancholy, Mercury.
Beacon Poetry Editor Billy Hands of Orient is author of the chapbook “Marry a Girl With Money” and the owner of the Orient Service Center, where you can find him singing the auto electric just about any day of the week.
The Beacon is accepting poetry submissions at firstname.lastname@example.org. Don’t be shy!