It's not another work night
where we're clawing at our beds,
but it's also not a get-away
with carried dirt on heels.
We're making many tracks in sand
that give away the state of things
and the weight of all our urgency,
which admittedly is little.
Soon we're treading, water-logged;
our armaments in tow.
A giggle rises from the land
that we might just have solicited.
Soon surrendered to fatigue,
forced to share in the defeat;
we lead aloft to balconies
just to find some trash to eat.

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