wonderland

I took my last ten dollars to Boston,

hopped on the blue line,

$2.50 one way ticket to

Wonderland.

Walked through the wet

sand sharp shells scabrous stones,

and built a sandcastle

where the waves would

lick it away by sunset.

Pressed 50 cents into the

ineluctably fleeting

side of the palace

1997, 2013.

Decorated the roof with

sun-scorched crab legs

&—

a seashell perfectly cleaved

in two halves.

I dipped my toes in the ocean

and considered the horizon,

for what?

Traded two dollars

to a lonely ice cream truck

disrupting the quasi peace of the

screaming gulls & chain-smoking

housewives with its

siren song of caloric destruction

for a

lurid

yellow ice cream

with blue gumball irises.

Sprawled out on the

feverous masses of

soft sand

allowing lemon liquid

to dribble down my wrist

the last five dollars

folded in my pocket

—& for once

not paying

heed to the sand sifting

under my body

through my hair into my dress.

Not paying at all.