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You say
“Take me somewhere with palm trees”

And I’ll take you to West Africa
To a small fishing village.
When you first arrive
The smell is overwhelming.
But once you’ve walked the red clay road for a few days
You won’t notice it anymore.
Instead you’ll be overwhelmed
By the piles of trash
And the faces of the children
Who only own a single stained T-shirt
And a ripped pair of pants.