Tugging up scarf and gloves,
there are four inches of snow
in the parking lot to slog through
and higher plowed mounds to skirt,

but pass through the doors
and the rounders and rounders
of tropical print shirts, shelves
lined with sunscreen and cocoa butter

and racks hung with the skimpiest bikinis
made in Macao testify I've instead
landed at Honolulu International.
I'm sure an associate will greet me

with a plastic lei and point me
to the aisle where the flip flops wait
for better weather.

April 2007