The “M” on the Margaritaville sign
Just blew away,
Like my plans
For a perfect
Tropical
Christmas:
A day at the beach
In some coastal town…
In the sun…
Lathered in lotion…
Washed away
By the buckets of grey rain
And blustery winds
From a hazy sky that was
Not angry, really,
Just heavy…
And apathetic.
Palms tossed over
Pots broken
Like my spirits
As we took refuge
In that primary-colored
Caricature of
Salt life.
And I missed the irony, you know.
In the moment I missed it.
In a town that exists for the rich and comfortable,
A place I chose for escape,
I was complaining (inwardly, at least)
About the damn weather.
When
My kids were there,
Soaked and laughing,
Eating guac and a Cheeseburger
In Paradise.
My wife was there…
Chatting up the bartender
And sipping a rum breeze.
You know, silver is just grey…
When you put a shine on it.
I have known 53 Christmases.
22 with my lovely wife.
18 now with kiddos.
I bet,
At the end of my days,
I will remember this one best.
And with a smile.