Sally sells seashells by the seashore

Sally steps in sand, and steals bits of the sea

Sally swims in seafoam, and tastes a salty “free”

Sally is sixteen, seventeen

Sally sells sun-kissed strawberries

In stalls, in superstores

Sally can no longer smell summer

But the sweat sweeping down her skin

Sally cups the sweetness in her palms, and it tastes like nothing at all

But ten years ago, sixteen, seventeen

Sally sells stolen sunflowers on the roadside

Sally is a man with dark skin

Sally is a man with dark skin backlit by orange hydrangeas

Sally has a face lined with cracked pavement, and broken sandals

Sally steps on asphalt, and burns her heels on sunshine

Sally sells on streets, stilettos and speed

Stripper and sister

Sweetheart, to the statues that pay her salary

Sally stares beyond the silent silhouette

Sally sips salt into her stomach

In the faraway distance, past sixteen, seventeen,

Sally can hear the sea