That's So Miami
1:00 pm
Mon April 8, 2013

Cafecito, Bayside, Feeding Birds And Haitian Creole: The Best of That's So Miami

Here we go again!  Check out some of our favorite #ThatsSoMiami poems from the last couple of days. Like what you see? Check out our Tumblr page, where we collect your submissions and post them for your viewing (laugh out loud) pleasure. Click here to make your submission.

(James Arthur Anderson, North Miami)

That’s so Miami: walk boldly to the window

and order it with pride— cafecito.

It’s more than just a drink;

it’s Joe-juice brewed like sugared ink

and looking for a fight.

I like to sip mine slow,

but some prefer to throw

it back like a shot in its tiny cup.

Drink it sitting down or standing up

according to your appetite.

For just half a buck, fifty cents,

it’s an invite to a shared event

that brings two cultures together

to curse Fidel, hurricanes, the weather,

insurance rates, and human rights.

Café cubano.

Not your average Joe.

Caffeine on steroids—with a bite.

(Gil Pettigrew)

At Bayside Market Place

There is a woman

Every Sunday afternoon

Meaning every Sunday I’m there

can’t say about the ones I’m not

Dressed in high church finery

Dancing with her wheelchair bound grown up daughter

Dressed in same

Through the crowds

To the ritmo of hot salsa

Because when folks will look anyhow

they deserve a show

That’s So Miami.

(Al Sunshine)

Greeting the Sunrise with a Yawn… while Ibis comb my lawn,

Geckos scurry on nearby fronds… while Coots and Spoon bills enjoy the pond.

Sirens blazing in the air... cop cars with no time to spare.

That’s so Miami!

Sign you are getting close to Krome Avenue, towards the edge of Miami as we know it.
Credit @gken09 on Twitter/ Instagram

(Jorge Sosa)

There’s a point out west, past Krome
where the ‘City’ ends.
Where the saw grass savannahs billow
and bass swim hidden 
in pools the color of coffee.

We like to go there sometimes.
To forget the ‘City’.
Out past the tourists, 
tourists ourselves,
in a land not our own.

We go home on Sunday.
Back to the ‘City’.
But we take our time going back.
We stop at The Pit for a beer.
Mud on our boots. 

Some don’t believe it but…
that’s so Miami.

(Stephen Schaurer)

That's so Miami, the lull of French voices

on nighttime NPR, the sound poetry

of their music, like soft-breezed waves onto beaches:

I dream of the stories they tell,

and then I am told, it is the Miami-Dade Public Schools

speaking in Creole.

Still I pretend, I listen

for the purrs of the poems I first imagined.