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.
