Harbor Springs, MI

Top of the mitten land
Arrived here via blacktop strips
Chomping yellow dashed lines like pac-man
Circumnavigation of the hand
Waterways line the land like a shower cap
Short hop from Petoskey
A bridge blurry vision foggy
Slush puppy rain squishing away from the tires
Grey bird skies wrapping around the twigs like presents
The language is steeped in the Northland
Hospitality rampant — the people never bland
Quaint streets and water town boutiques
Freshwater seafront with skiing up the street
Its own world on top of the compass

—J.M.

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