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synchronicity I know Nan Hai Da Dao is eighteen flags wide four days before National Day, because I counted. Lines of them stream by Shekou Wo Er Ma south to the promised Hai. Not a trace of irony in the synchronicity of a Walmart sign beyond a billboard celebrating sixty years of the PRC, an orgy of consumption Sunday evening in the square between Wo Er Ma and Garden City Mall, the child’s toy I can hear but cannot see in the middle of it playing “Simple Gifts,” the young kid who says screw you when I wave off a flyer advertising one more thing I would have to throw away later, and I laugh out loud because I have no reason to argue, no rhyme to make it right. poem © Steven Schroeder image © Mary Ann O'Donnell
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