? SLAB | Sound & Literary Art Book

Issue 3

Contest Winners

Carissa DiGiovanni

At the Caliente Tropics Resort



in the whirlpool, the Canadian
man who’s hitting on Robyn
tells us he sells high-end
meats at a very high-end mall,
tells us Elvis used to come
here in its heyday, and the Rat Pack too.
He’s telling us, us girls,
and his nephew whose name
he can’t tell us. We are all—
the four of us, and the hot tub—
under a big, tiki-lit
Easter Island mask of shitty
fake wood, and I forgot
my bathing suit so I
have to sit on the edge of the scratchy
white tub, with my skirt rutched up
and just my legs in the pool.
(I push Robyn’s back with my toes
in time to his crassest
comments.) But, up here
I’ve got a better view
than everyone and as I
stare past the plastic yellow
slats of the lounge chairs, and see the snow
slope against sand-covered
mountains, while pine trees stretch
in needled worship underneath,
back to the meat dude I think I can see
the six-point flash of Sammy
Davis’ necklace as he jumps
off the pink diving board in the big
pool. And maybe the ruin of blue
suede shoes, floating where Elvis
flung them in its shallow end.
So there could’ve been a heyday.