At the Happiest
Place on Earth, worn-out tots shriek,
deprived of their naps.
Doing too much at Disneyworld
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At the Happiest
Place on Earth, worn-out tots shriek,
deprived of their naps.
At the Happiest
Place on Earth, worn-out tots shriek,
deprived of their naps.
With more handlers than
Lindsay, their paparazzi –
parents; stalkers – tots.
Fastpass, Magic Hours,
maximizing each for the
most fun possible.
Flat mapped names turn in-
to forested hills, roads wind
towards adventure.
“Let’s go to the beach!”
One kid, online, shrugs as the
other keeps texting.
“In a typical week, only 6 percent of children ages nine to thirteen play outside on their own.”
from The Option of Urbanism: Investing in a New American Dream by Christopher B. Leinberger
He tours in a case
like an aged Ken, “mint in box”
they’d say on eBay.
All around it, the
town is dead. Pity the poor
taken investors.
A romantic name
for a seagull poop splashed walk
among spray and rocks.
A schoolteacher in
a barrel did what no man
could – lived to tell it.
Where river meets lake
we stand as Toronto gleams
across the waters.