Ocean City (NJ, not Maryland). and Story of a Girl. by Dawn Corrigan

I spent my fourteenth summer drifting up and down the Atlantic City boardwalk. I was alone, as my classmates gravitated instead to nearby Ocean City, which touted itself as “America’s Greatest Family Resort.” The main leg for this claim seemed to be that Ocean City was a dry town. The city limit of neighboring Somers Point was delineated by a row of bars and package good stores, the last line of defense against enforced sobriety.
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Enormous Duck — rendering by Viktoriya Banul

It strikes
a flash
like the web of memories alight

It was one of those burning summers when I must have been about four or five. I usually went outside our building into the sun and ran back in the cold of the stairwell. I thought that I was tricking heat from following me everywhere when I went outside.

Through the muck that coats the coach window,
streets bow like the body of a fallen oak
reaching out for the air that creeps ‘tween his brothers’ planted feet,
and remains so elusive
through their leaves, falling to meet me

With daddy and left over pie
I see a monkey bound to fall
Crucial but I don't know why
Like a roulette game swinging
Over water, reversals of us
Wicks wacky humans
Good sometimes, losers too.