Late arrivals like a dark cloak
flapping madly in the wind
outside and no one pulls the blinds.
An untrained guitar player
tries to figure out the chords
while every shore is getting
eaten by the waves that break
against the edge of where the land
once took its stand against the water.
Sting rays are the only thing
that’s biting and the fisherman
who catch them leave their piles
on the docs to slowly rot.
A few have tried to cook them right
over the firelight but they’ve never
tasted anything but metal.
The arcade cabinet flashing screens
light up the boardwalk brighter
than the sky, and the whole reason why
is everything is paid for.

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