Venice, not Santa Monica
A boy
who thinks too much and tries too hard
the wrong way on the highway
a few missed exits
and here we are
foggy skies and cigarette smoke,
sunglassed eyes and the sun’s not out
the cool mist on the sea
is beginning to creep through the street
it hides the people with their beach trash art
and the music keeps playing
battles between every store
he’s still here
but i wish i were alone
my hand is sticky with humidity and he smiles
because he wants to hold it
i’ll put on my smile mask
and turn the other way
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