by Ryan Quinn Flanagan
Sandcastles
into journeymen fiefdoms,
so what?,
the sand between
your toes.
And the lobster house
up on the hill
offering cold beer
and the daily catch,
your favourite table
by the window.
Looking out
upon free parking,
past the unshucked oysters
of promise
to one million bicycles
off the chain
in red
China.
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