Haines City

There is nothing quite like cat piss to describe my life in Haines City:
It’s a sting in the eyes that won’t go away,
And like that stink on my finger that I can’t wash off.
It is not unlike all the noise in my world:
Mexican music coming in from three directions
The cop siren going back and forth
A truck backing up with a beep beep beep
The never ending sound of rubber on the road
Somebody’s building a house with twelve angry hammers
The dog with the two foot chain that barks with ever breath of his unfortunate life
The stuck up plane that sends down its
Nanny Nanny Boo Boo wail
Gun Shots
Drunken laughter
Loud TV’s in empty rooms
The buzz of the lights
Ignored car alarms
Leaf blowers
Lawn mowers
Loud snorers
The clock ticking
Jaxi’s licking
Finger nail clipping
The deafening sound that an ant makes when dragging a leaf across the windowsill
A bag of marshmallows spilled on the rug
The thundering sound of an eye winking
And the crash of the sunset.