Ocracoke

On Ocracoke I sit in the sand & smoke,
Sipping an okra Coke. Only in the South,
I say, missing my mouth. At least I don’t choke

On the flavor, cough syrup meets candied moth.
Stupefying as clustered houses on stilts,
Collapsing at water’s edge, sea-surge no sloth

But time’s expedient. Whole villages melt
Into the sea from spit islands thin
As a beanpole’s waist. Wild ponies, svelte

& savage, graze in dune grasses, whinny, yawn.
Dwarf palmettos, yuccas, & palms dot the shore.
What will happen when there’s no sand to stand on?

This languor expands in the velvety air.
Gale-force winds, hurricanes, & erosion wreck
These islands every season. They don’t have a prayer,

Though maybe I’m just a bore getting sunstroke.
Palms & palmettos quiver in the warm wind.
I sit in the sand & smoke on Ocracoke.