Frankly Speaking

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 Frankly Speaking

There is a couple on the beach, they have a small room, been on the beach for years, suffered through the worst of it. They have been through every phase. The Hippie, the war protesters -the poet-the artist - the "free love fest"- the heavy duty weed scene, "hell no we won't fn go" from there; To the board room with a haircut and a suit. Back to the beach, to retire; She still wore pigtails and flowered skirts. Oh, my God, we’ve moved slower through time she thought, and those times now seemed so far away. Contrasting times were here with cocaine, ecstasy, and mushrooms.!
S.S. check gone too soon, these days were not like the old days but vegetarians never die- So we dance at night after soaking up the sun; Growing wrinkled and red and filled with vitamin D... He displays his art- we played on our boombox: Bob Marley and Elton John which drew a crowd. We became as one with South Beach, as we practiced our Yoga, or played our musical instruments and chanted “Nam-myoho-renge-kyo”.
My black friend was so beautiful in her bikini and golden headwrap...She roller-skated past and waved. She was a poet like me... She said she'd be back for the session. A lot of her poems were about David the owner of the Franklin Hotel where we lived. I and other poets wrote poems about the system that tried to impose hate upon us free thinking peoples. People would give us money for sharing our poems, and purchase his art work. We’d buy few mangos and veggie burgers for our dinner, next, we’d wait for the sun to go down.
At night, my Black friend. Oladeji would collect the last 5 bucks, for the Gourmet Franks that she sold to the hungry drunks left over on the beach, who had been evacuated from the clubs for maxed out credit cards. Sad looks and broke pockets were not welcomed.
Which made her hot, fat kosher gourmet grilled franks, smothered in her special onion sauce, even more of a redeeming quality; As her poetic sign read… {FRANKLY SPEAKING…Home of the gourmet franks} ... Oladeji, would chant out her newly learned Spanish words nightly, to the dregs of dejected party goers, she’d shout “Pero caliente, saboya salsa” Rico delicioso”! then again in English; Hot-dogs with onion sauce very delicious.

Frankly Speaking There is a couple on the beach, they have a small room, been on the beach for years, suffered through the worst of it. They have been through every phase. The Hippie, the war protesters -the poet-the artist - the "free love fest"- the heavy duty weed scene, "hell no we won't fn go" from there; To the board room with a haircut and a suit. Back to the beach, to retire; She still wore pigtails and flowered skirts. Oh, my God, we’ve moved slower through time she thought, and those times now seemed so far away. Contrasting times were here with cocaine, ecstasy, and mushrooms.! S.S. check gone too soon, these days were not like the old days but vegetarians never die- So we dance at night after soaking up the sun; Growing wrinkled and red and filled with vitamin D... He displays his art- we played on our boombox: Bob Marley and Elton John which drew a crowd. We became as one with South Beach, as we practiced our Yoga, or played our musical instruments and chanted “Nam-myoho-renge-kyo”. My black friend was so beautiful in her bikini and golden headwrap...She roller-skated past and waved. She was a poet like me... She said she'd be back for the session. A lot of her poems were about David the owner of the Franklin Hotel where we lived. I and other poets wrote poems about the system that tried to impose hate upon us free thinking peoples. People would give us money for sharing our poems, and purchase his art work. We’d buy few mangos and veggie burgers for our dinner, next, we’d wait for the sun to go down. At night, my Black friend. Oladeji would collect the last 5 bucks, for the Gourmet Franks that she sold to the hungry drunks left over on the beach, who had been evacuated from the clubs for maxed out credit cards. Sad looks and broke pockets were not welcomed. Which made her hot, fat kosher gourmet grilled franks, smothered in her special onion sauce, even more of a redeeming quality; As her poetic sign read… {FRANKLY SPEAKING…Home of the gourmet franks} ... Oladeji, would chant out her newly learned Spanish words nightly, to the dregs of dejected party goers, she’d shout “Pero caliente, saboya salsa” Rico delicioso”! then again in English; Hot-dogs with onion sauce very delicious.

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