The steamy sunrays thrashed the boardwalk into submission,
Those favorite red plastic sunglasses doing their best.
Fluttering linen in the summertime,
Arcade noises puncture the air.
Ding! And someone’s a winner, you know.

Old boards holding up laughter and bared teeth
Bicycles travel in another dimension, weaving bright threads through the crowd.
The air is part salt, part damp, part sun, part vinegar.
Stopping to think isn’t necessary,
And that’s the point, you know.

Wisps of henna trail up your arm,
Braided hemp circles your ankle.
That long dress you would never wear in real life.
Salt coats your skin, the beginnings of dreadlocks, bare feet.
It’s hard to admit you like yourself better this way, you know.

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