Florida

in the eighties
i am red raw
in mangrove quicksand

across hot cement
behind wet pigtails
i am wearing neon

Frankie says relax
i am treading water
my legs submerged

twenty blue Smurfs
watch from the windowsill
smile without teeth

the cacti sleep
they never move
until tornadoes

blow the roof off
porch mesh straddles
suburban lawns

our mailbox is broken
our mailbox is a broken home
its little red flag
blows down the street

fans spin
they are frantic
i am in flux
with bloody red knees
scabs to pick

the driveway
of my childhood home
a crescent moon