To the Tourists

Here is to the snowbirds and spring breakers,

who invade my hometown every year.

The people who are at our museums for their very first time

looking for Abraham Lincoln in a portrait of a naked woman by Dali.

And the children building sandcastles

who my sister will teach the stingray shuffle

and identify their shells.

Iit’s probably an Atlantic giant cockle)

And the sunburnt tourists who take our table at our favorite restaurant.

When we go places

we often assume that everyone else is just visiting too.

It’s hard to imagine that people just live there.

Which is why they ask if I go to the beach every day?

(No, rarely)

Or how many times I've been to Disney?

(Three times.)

Or museum of fine arts?

(So many times.)

And we complain about their driving, and the litter,

and that every April Pass A Grille beach smells like weed.

But the beach is our main export.  

The museums and the mini golf courses sustain us.

Which is why I set my stories in St. Petersburg.  

I tell people to come,

Come see a sunset on a powdered sugar beach

Where the waves are gentle and always warm.

And visit the museums I went to on field trips.

I even invite you to walk into my church, which somehow got listed on Tripadvisor

And invade our mass so that you can take pictures.

We won't mind.

Just come.

Let me share my city with you.