Disaster Tourism

Florida is a great place to lie.
The sun never sets. We don’t have funerals.
You only ever know your friend passed
when you see his furniture at
the second hand store. You tell people,
I think he went back to Boston.
He wanted to be closer to the grandkids.

I accidentally found the place on the beach
where the attractive young people are.
I don’t fit. These things are not democratic.
Beauty is basically fascism, in that
it’s all about control. You can spoil yourself
so easily if you lose your grip.

This is how I will remember Naples, Florida
the Christmas after the hurricane.
The fishdock is a line of broken teeth.
The water is not safe for swimming.
Storm debris shimmers like souvenirs.
The red tide is a Christmas thing, he says.

The house is split and half slants down.
Just a few inches. Enough to show
that the foundation is unstable.

The ocean pushed up the concrete here.
You see that? It seemed so permanent.
This one is gutted. Oldest house on the beach.
Sold for the land on the condition that the new owner
tear down this dump. It’s been condemned by the city.

When the water came, we swam.
Dolphins shopped on 5th Avenue.
All the storefronts are just facades.
This is where we go to play at being rich.

Tell me the part that’s going to be the most expensive to fix.




Reprinted from Disaster Tourism (BOA Editions, 2025) with the permission of the author. All rights reserved.