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We publish an extra poem this week in celebration of the arrest of a suspect<\/em><\/p>\n in the murder of four people in the Seminole Heights neighborhood of Tampa, Florida.<\/em><\/p>\n Gianna Russo wrote this loving picture of her neighborhood, and we accepted it,<\/em><\/p>\n before these murders began. We hoped that the perpetrator would be found<\/em><\/p>\n so that the casual vivacity of the area could be restored\u00a0<\/em>before we published<\/em><\/p>\n the poem. Today we hope this nightmare has ended for our friends in Tampa,<\/em><\/p>\n and we celebrate the <\/em>joie de vivre of that area with Russo’s work.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n I stepped away from the bar at Ella\u2019s where the din is handcrafted and foams up to a roar, <\/p>\n I stepped away from the cherry martini that had me teetering <\/p>\n And what about that woman in the towel once, right there across the street, <\/p>\n The night was just three beers along when I left the julep-voiced poet <\/p>\n Then just as I leaned to unlock the door, I looked down at the old brick street <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I stepped away from the bar at Ella’s…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"featured_media":2447,"template":"","categories":[9,49,119],"tags":[431,6,432,433,434],"class_list":["post-2442","article","type-article","status-publish","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-aquifer","category-literary-features","category-poetry","tag-after-the-poetry-reading-a-condom","tag-aquifer-the-florida-review-online","tag-gianna-russo","tag-seminole-heights-florida","tag-tampa"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n
\n\u00a0<\/span>as the famed poet served us his lines succulent and Southern.
\nWith his Rhett Butler accent, the poet summoned Old Uncle Walt.
\nSo Whitman came among us with his taste for bacony bodies and sweat-odorous men,
\ndraped his arm over the poet and reached for the jalapeno poppers.<\/p>\n
\non those heels I hardly ever wear anymore since they kick up my bursitis,
\n\u00a0<\/span>but I\u2019d put in my contacts, too, so what the hell.
\nI stepped away from the wine-rinsed laughter and the joke I told
\n\u2014if a place could have its pants down, this one does\u2014
\n<\/em>this mugshot of a neighborhood where I live
\n\u00a0<\/span>with its one long avenue stretched like a nekked leg.<\/p>\n
\nthree a.m., outfoxed by the absence of a bathtub and her mislaid name?
\nOf course the cops were called and they folded her like a burrito into the back seat:
\n\u00a0<\/span>just another Tuesday night in Seminole Heights.<\/p>\n
\n\u00a0<\/span>singing of Lincoln Continentals cruising the side streets, their flopping mufflers.
\nI walked into the after-rain on Shadowlawn Street.
\nTwilight sorted its lingerie in the leaves, rosy and white,
\nand I tottered down the block toward my car, while in all the yards,
\nconfederate jasmine mounted the fences, bouquets on the bridal veil bushes shuddered
\n\u00a0<\/span>and the magnolia tree came inside each mammoth blossom.<\/p>\n
\nand saw it lying flat in the dirt, the deflated jellyfish of lust:
\n\u00a0<\/span>used, tossed over, open-mouthed, smiling,
\nit was the remains of someone\u2019s poem, or at least the start of one.<\/p>\n