In the distance the dust storm hazes the horizon

on the edge of the desert

you take your peace where you will

in denial of the reality twenty feet away

a little blue pool

with german boys playing poor r&b

not quite singing the words right (or in tune)

no prisoners here

as the sun beats down

creating sweat crystals on brown hands

holding the pen & pabst blue ribbon

we have all travelled to get here

this little bit of American blue pool

thin strip of green at the edge of the sand

where we only acknowledge each other in passing

any more would be to open up

horrors nobody wants or needs

as the wind whorls around us

& out into the bright desert again

reeking of sun tan lotion & pabst

& nothing that matters

or has any consequence

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