Not far from where I grew up,
just over the old green industrial bridge
where the Cumberland River
flows,
there is a man-made beach
tucked away in a neighborhood
of ugly houses with overgrown lawns,
roofs caving in,
and siding panels stripped back
to reveal skeleton frames underneath.
Everything is in a state of eviction.
On the banks opposite the beachfront
an old plastics factory puffs out
bright white smoke from two black lungs.
On the beach, cigarette butts
are more prevalent than sand, as if
everything here has cancer.
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