Still Life

by Michael Cantor

scabrous in Miami’s evening light;
a goodbye wink, a kiss to end the night.
The letters, palimpsests of hints and stains,
adorn the old facade, obscured among
fresh banners that proclaim that on this site
a string of towers, glass and malachite,
will be constructed for the Always Young.

And stretching to the north along the beach
are thirty-story slabs in raw concrete;
monolithic, empty, incomplete,
construction halted, future out of reach.
Around these vast, abandoned blocks of gray
the rebar-cluttered sands stretch far away.

Michael Cantor, a resident of Plum Island, north of Boston on the Massachusetts coast, is frequently a semi-finalist. His work has appeared in The Dark Horse, The Atlanta Review, The Chimaera, The Shit Creek Review, The Comstock Review, Measure, and many other print journals, anthologies and ezines.