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by David K. Adams

(Near the jetties at Saint Andrews State Park in Panama City Beach, Florida)

the boat pumps
millions of dollars spent
and from the sump
mud and sand and dying fish
gush through the pipe
to dry in the sun
and the bulldozer shoves
the sand
to cover the boulder rocks
and when all is done
Hurricane Ivan blows
sand from its nomad roam
back into the Gulf
and children climb
the stones
and sneak
in the secret of its shadows
and, again,
the drones
pipe up the millions
to re-cover the stones.

Who is David Adams?
"I am a writer, working on a novel," he says, "and I attended Seaside Writers Conference at Seaside, Florida, in 2003. I almost sold a house when I was in Real Estate down here in Florida, but after six months I became despondent and just could not do that anymore. I drink Corona Beer (sometimes with lime and sometimes without). Maybe if I got a regular job I would have better feelings about life, but I think I never would have written DREDGE if that had happened -- I would rather be a sour writer than not a writer at all. So my biography is that I am a Rosedalian [Mississippi] who resides as a Floridian, but as a writer in residence."

Write David Adams at adams120

Read the poetry of another Mississippi writer, Bonnie B. Horton:


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