Seven Billion AnklesAlex Haber
Everywhere hummed the heat of overpopulation. Children moving sand, packing it with the red butts of shovels. Teenagers throwing Frisbees, making heroic lunges, splashing near-naked friends. Stomachs spilled over and chests fought for freedom. Every skin restless, eager to escape.
That day on the beach the water kissed our ankles, urged us to take a swim. Our hands, limp at our sides, our toes sloshing in our shoes, we watched them drink the sun, ignored the sky clawing at our white parts. Out there the fish flung their tails, slapped at the bareness of intruders.
Which way to the beach? they asked us. We lost ourselves in the itchy tall grass. The pale hidden parts of nature. That way, answered the dull lips of your thumb, anxious to be away.
We spread out on the shaded bench, let the insects explore us. In the distance: the bloating of everything. We fell asleep drooling, our clothes falling off of our skin.
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