Which Disaster

Sauntering down the Boardwalk, shrug

off the berating banners⁠—"Do Your Part"⁠—which I am

so the newsdealer won't tear

my ear off in righteous annoyance

but he's just grouchy from last week

when Mother toppled some smokestacks and retaliated

with this acidic air but I couldn't care

less yet still buy the paper anyhow 'cause even with that mask

he's more scalding than the Sound.

Her currents crash over the callous

storefront-seafront like a battle cry

with every inch reclaimed. Our surface-pure summer

of beach balls and lifeguard podiums sunken

under her rosy eventide lips,

purging plastic swells to landfall,

cleansing the undisturbed horizon.

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