How Much More Corrupt Can Florida Become
I asked the sun
rising slow over palms—
How much more
can a place bend
before it breaks?
The sun didn’t answer.
It just burned—
like truth
too hot for hands
that hide it.
I asked the courthouse steps,
worn smooth by pleading feet—
How many lies
have you carried upward
in polished shoes?
They said nothing,
but I heard the echo
of a thousand verdicts
whispering
not quite justice—
not quite.
Down by the water,
where the tide keeps time
better than men,
I asked the ocean—
How deep does corruption go?
The ocean laughed,
rolled back blue shoulders,
and said:
Deeper than your questions,
but not deeper than change.
And in the streets—
where the poor stand waiting
longer than promised —
I heard a voice,
cracked but living:
It becomes what we allow.
So I ask you—
not the sun,
not the steps,
not the sea—
How much more
can Florida become
before somebody
stands up
and says
Enough.
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