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South Whittier Crossroads |
flashing lights, sirens and the close haircut of helicopters
rain their sonic emergencies at the corner of
Telegraph and Leffingwell, the air waving in
psychedelic flashes of charbroiled beef from
taco wagons to Jack in the Box where
the homeless sleep behind the dumpster
begging me for enough spare change to buy
a glass boot of King Cobra
and the bicycle couriers that run to and from the
darkened tract home lairs of dope pushers
in secret corners of the cul de sac
and it's hungover Palm trees hanging above it
having given up themselves
women push strollers with three kids across the road
from the 99 Cents store and it's messes in every aisle
of aimless flesh, bottom shelf tin food and sugar plastic
discount bliss, children crying as they ride quarter kiddie rides
of ceramic nightmares
it all used to be ranch land when my great grand parents
moved in, beautiful L.A. desert groves until it became
an endless reel of shuttered strip malls and sidewalks
that tell the whole story in their grimy mosaics
covered in footprints of mysterious beasts that haunt the
night streets in their failed, desperate attempts
to escape
copyright 2014
Kevin
Ridgeway |
