"Finding Margaritaville" by Kaylee Schofield

Finding Margaritaville

I always thought of Jimmy Buffett

like boxed pasta: 

no one’s favorite, the food

of lonely people

but the weekend he dies

the radio blares that iconic tune

to the slow roll of sunset over yellow soy fields

and I realize all of a sudden 

what a masterpiece it is: 

the women, the flip flops, the framing device

a guy after 30 years 

turning the glass inward 

toward some kind of healing 

We go through his hits 

one by one as if by accident 

shouting half-remembered lyrics

and gaping at each stone barn

in the crepe-paper light 

five ants forging a path through grass

crying for no clear reason

except that when you hurt all over

everything sticks

maybe it is our own damn fault 

and if so, finally, thank God

someone’s telling the truth at last

Kaylee Schofield lives in a small Pennsylvania river town with her partner, three pets, and a host of harmless spiders. She is a woodworker, sound bite hoarder, and night-specter-about-town.