Morning glories bloom all day,
bright bougainvillea cover the roof tops
and no one can find a place to park.

A young woman tosses back her hair,
trying to be somebody,
while she waits at the intersection
for her opening in the traffic.

Young men in black and white
Gordon and Smith tee-shirts skateboard
their way into somebody’s heart,
and women surfers go out alone.

Joggers sweat and breathe,
sweat and breathe,
sweat and breathe.

All thought begins here
where the continent runs out of time,
tourists and locals hovering together
on the edge of the earth at sunset,
hoping for a green flash.

We will have Eggs Benedict for breakfast
in a French restaurant, and he will tell me
neurotic has gone out of style and
been replaced with personality defect.