by Sarah Carleton
We stand outside the iron gates of Universal Studios,
talking about how capitalism has gone awry
and how lawmakers here are afraid of paper straws
as we peer through the bars like paupers at a palace,
taking in the set of America—a mishmash of glass block,
fairy-tale cottages, midcentury city buildings,
and palm trees. Families glide before us in spotless pink,
blue, white—or witch robes. Everyone’s vacationing
in the movie of their choice. Those skyscrapers
in the distance aren’t real, my husband says,
so I put my glasses on to better understand the backdrop.
Sure enough, walls and windows angle down
like the boxes I used to draw in the margins of math books,
giving the illusion of dimension.
Twenty-three years living in Florida, and this is
the first time we’ve bothered to check out the universal
fantasy. We’re just here for a stroll, but we promise
to come back sometime and explore.
We have time and money for every adventure
—that’s the story we tell ourselves.