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| Venice Island, FL |
Half-a-million-dollar stuccoed boxes painted pink
and citrus green and sunrise yellow like Easter chicks
huddled wing-to-wing for warmth under the bulb,
not so different really than the mobile homes
aligned like organ keys in parks they call
"communities," clustered in the sun
awning-to-awning, too close for me,
an inlander used to hilltop views and open fields
and solid ground, not yet overwhelmed by gravity.
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