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Sonnet 254


Atlantic City, facade to the god

Money on the edge of America

where the sea and the air share a sky there

before Christopher Columbus came, raped

and pillaged the place. Lights, loud music

and free drinks in all of the casinos

make it difficult to hear or see or

think as coins slip into the machines

taking hundreds and giving back fifteen.

On the beach waves break, make comforting sounds.

A child runs up disturbing what I write.

“I saw a crab!” she says excited. I’m

happy—I’d looked and hadn’t seen any.

What she tells me is better than money.


A Wave in Atlantic City by Akram


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