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"The Resort" by Linda Munson Peth
Wayfaring, olden days' stay, restless,
Ghost Family Wanders Inn,
Hotel of bygone days, old
Rockefeller elegance,
Weeds, wire-fenced, paint-peeling,
Feeling like a Last Resort,
But since they are so sheer, so inconspicuous,
They pass through to their suite, set of rooms, all named,
Called Moon of Consequence,
Sequence of inexplicable events, superlative corridors.
Sweet children line up for the evening arrival, that takes forever,
For it is not a simple matter to move
From one extreme to another,
Heaven to Hell,
Hell to Heaven,
Without noticeable friction, and still maintain the fictional
stance.
As night advances, unbroken by morning,
Ballroom waltzes are wooed, unspeaking though dreamable, from
strings,
Minuets through the alphabet, all the letters.
Ghost family changes to suit their mood, fleet footed, skipping,
Exacting movement from every thought, corner of their imaginings,
twinings, twirlings,
Whirling in a frenzy of animated moments.
The plan for entertainment outside is fireworks fun, lightning,
The sky sparkling, playing with fire from afar.
When they tire of one diversion, they try on another,
Midnight naked, tripping down to the solarium to bathe,
Their skin so delicate, they fear to burn in even so faint a reflection
from the sun.
On the Promenade, Ghost Children carry parasols against the brightness,
each a period piece, picture of Edwardian grace,
Fashioned from something remote.
Retiring, taking refreshment.
They plan to sleep in the Honeymoon Room,
Swim in the heart-shaped pool,
Drool over the spicy heart-shaped cakes,
Baked especially for each one.
Poor little ones will get a belly-ache.
Seaside fare is all watercolor palette, a fresco of finished proportions,
Dimensions, pretensions of those taking the ocean air,
No effort spared to ensure their complete enjoyment,
Employing every means available
To show off the pretty children, who sit in contrast, a foil:
They are delivered into the hands of the spoilers
Who will spoil them.
(May 3, 1988)
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