Walking the Boardwalk

Even when no people are present

Walking on a boardwalk

Gives the feeling of existing

In civilization.

Stairs leading down to a boardwalk.

Walking along the elongated hole,

Slicing and cutting through

Alligator weed, privet and cattails,

You know

Some intrepid laborer-

An immigrant, a prisoner,

An immigrant prisoner,

A prisoner of immigrants

(Since I doubt many Native Americans

Serve on the Labor Division of the Board of Corrections)

Mowed down the pushy plants

So another intrepid laborer

Could dig the holes

For yet another intrepid laborer

To install the posts

So that even more intrepid laborers

Could hammer in the boards.

Forest in front of a boardwalk.

This ain’t the Drifters boardwalk

Down by the Seeeea.

This boardwalk lacks

The crass commercialism

Of the Coney Island boardwalk-

No hyperbolic hot dog-eating contests

Or settings for some of the best B movies.

It also lacks the pretentiousness

Of the Monopoly™ Boardwalk

Because the rent is free

(Unless you book the veranda for a birthday party).

Boardwalk cutting through the underbrush.

On this boardwalk,

Studious lesbians,

Geeky joggers,

Amiable senior citizens

And bilingual bird watchers

Come to enjoy their leisure time.

Two women walking next to a man jogging on a boardwalk.

This is the boardwalk where

Out-of-work, self-declared “artists”-

Neither spiritual nor religious,

Living alone,

Enduring isolation,

Come to refute the Existentialists

And look at happy dogs. 

Happy dog standing still with its tongue out.

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