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Reaching for
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Down in the Dirt, v201 (11/22)



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Sea-Side Resort

John Grey

Behind me,
the sea-side resort
rides the highs of its vulgarity
but the ocean view
is never less than stunning.
Slot machines, wax museums,
cheap fried food, hucksters, shysters,
and ugly high rises -
and yet the calm out there
is the calm within me,
that would rather drop beneath that surface
than chew one morsel of salty taffy.
People wander from one soulless store front to the next,
A fortune teller grins out at faces grinning in.
A hole-in-the-wall church promises salvation
for a c-note.
Meanwhile, the waters spread wide
and I bless their famous body.
I’ve heard that drowning
is the most serene way to die.
You breathe what’s to come.
You breathe out everything that’s gone before.
Breathe in, breathe out,
until you don’t.
Take a look through tawdry town
and you’ll find the hookers, the junkies,
the trouble makers and the touts.
Homeless sleep in doorways.
A bed of garbage,
sheets of old newspaper -
what’s that compared to an ocean
If the earth was not my home anymore,
I’d know where I’d sleep.d for a moment but then goes back in my pocket.
I’d been warned. The city sidewalks have nothing to offer.
Sure the guy’s a shyster. Uninhibited, unnamed,
his cheap crimes are as naked as his waxen profile
while an obese crazy man curses the daylight
with flesh enough on his bones to put the rest of us in the shade.
But I’m safe, humming along, zigzagging the crowd,
clutching my map though wary of unfolding it.
Don’t want to look like a tourist.



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