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ISSUE:  Summer 2012

If only they wouldn’t leave us so alone.
At the fair, and farther out, in the arcades,
in arcadia—

where with three darts for a dollar
we puncture every balloon
and like dimes

fling ourselves into the dime toss
the barkers lay before us.
What prize should we choose?

Where are we or where should we be?
Should be somewhere, we know that.
Prizes hang from every stall

and BB guns shout,
louder than we can shout.


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