May 2, 2011
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The crashes of the split waves on the shore, the screech of helicopters and airplanes hovering above, the ominous sirens of the fire trucks, police cars, and ambulances, the lights of the city around us fighting the growing darkness from the sea, the boom of sub-woofers out of obnoxiously loud cars with drunken college students hanging out of the windows and in the back of trucks as they drive by, the gangs and the random people in the back alleys that smoke rolled up pot and show each other their handguns that they carry around, the smell of salt, fresh ocean air, sand, gasoline, smoke, sweat, stinky feet, wet clothes, old furniture, fresh linens, and dirt.
This is Myrtle Beach at 1 am.

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abridge said...
Nov. 9, 2011 at 4:19 pm
This looks like it would be a very interesting poem if you changed the format a little.  Neat idea.
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