The Beach Is Made Of Money Poem by Timmy Curran

Tis October and
the old town does sleep
there are lights everywhere
but few people speak
A choir of primates
do sing in the trees
there´s a talk of two cities
and me in between
Racing to the dirty side
through the pristine of the clean
surprises still linger
through only one street
if you have enough money
you can buy half the beach
Transplants turn locals
their babies will wink
from colone to dollar
all money has a distinct stink