Candy Shop - Day 10

 Watermelon Taffy; Banana Taffy

What we sell by the seashore sticks

on tongues: bootleg T-shirts blaring

bad opinions, mandalas of dough

boiled in oil. The ripe fruits

of empire were distilled and copied

some exits north, just outside

the airport. A few drops and the color

of their skins fed through the old machine

in the window, kneading forever.

Strange to see the theme of a summer

place fade, see more sand than blankets

on an August Sunday. Nobody's lined up

to try their strength or have a wise man guess

the weight.