Margo needs to make a withdrawal
She pulls her Lexus up to the drive-through window
And, at the ease of a digital push pad,
Reduces her supply a bit
The one she worked so hard to raise
And that sucked up so much of her energy
 
She’s come a long way from Terre Haute
Where roots were coming up the drains
And taupe is considered a hot color
But here in Lighthouse Point
Everyone wears tints of lime and mango and cantaloupe
So enticing that she wants to lick her blouses
When back home in Indiana
Clothing was only for covering your pale body
 
Here in Florida even the air bears fruit and flowers
Can’t you smell the hibiscus?
Margo is not even afraid any more of the lizards
Appearing by late morning
To bask in the sun
Their dotted skins suggesting button candy
She wants the thrill of catching one
Only to let it go
 
Night in Terre Haute – even in summer –
Would be like the closing curtain
The sun’s angles reminding her
That there are only so many rays meant for you
 
But in Florida –as the name itself implies –
The act of growing is no feat of will
 
On North Federal Highway there is nothing to want for
Dunn’s Jewelers, with that dazzling citrine
She has been meaning to buy
Papa Hughie’s – where she had that party in the Bimini Room,
The conga line snaking around the raw bar
With the stone crabs proudly offering themselves up
As if their whole lives culminated in this state:
Lying still
On this bed of ice
 
She pushes unpleasantness out of her mind
The divorce she now calls “cutting off the bad fruit”
And Jackie can’t be estranged forever
Holding in her belief that Margo “stifled her growth”
Doesn’t Margo have a new array of friends – Florida friends
Who like to sing show tunes and laugh at the high taxes up north?
 
It took work and sacrifice to get here
With her lanai opening out onto the Intracoastal,
Its waters almost feeding into her condo
And now she’s withdrawing money without the slightest unease
Terre Haute is but a memory now
 
While the cash machine is grinding
She looks again at that big ugly strangler fig
She always does; she can’t help it
But when the green of her bills gives forth
Well, that’s the last of that
On to somewhere musical or somewhere vibrant
 
Cash is out…good. She puts the stick in drive
And almost gets away
Until something she can’t decipher inside her
Turns to the end of the parking lot
And stops at the edge of the tarmac
Where it ends…and “The Big Fig” takes over
 
She gets out, not knowing why
And stares up at this 200 year old monstrosity
It seems that a real tree – now only a hollow tube remains-
Met its end inside those hairy branches
Which choked the poor thing, so that the disgusting epiphyte might live.
Where the healthy one sent out productive branches,
The feeder sends roots straight down
Which leeched away the host’s food
“Why don’t they tear it down?”
She remembers the “Creature Features” she watched long ago
With Jackie propped up on her lap
While Margo clasped her arms around her
The trunk looks like that “Swamp Thing”
It’s not even brown – just some horrible non-color
She wants to go home
 
Just then she spots the namesake fruit
Some figs hanging in clusters for comfort
Maybe the tree is so hideous no one bothered to pick them
Not knowing why, she picks
“They might go well with some sour cream.”
 
It’s time to go
She takes one last look
This time at the bank
Now it seems strange to her
Its coral pink color suddenly alien
She steps back on the asphalt and tries to breathe in hibiscus…
Nothing…not even figs…
And drives away
Vowing to change banks