Los Angeles Poem
By Charlotte Ballard
A gray crowed bus
Delivered me to your door,
You must not
Have been expecting me.
For I saw-
Neat, little lumps of dirty glitter
Rolling off of small town eyes,
Crack-men puffing,
Bars of steel bent on
Fake diamond ware
Cars pushing, nose to butt,
Strangers, intimately twine
And twine again –
A rendezvous unplanned.
Your fine lace was
Left carelessly about
Under damp bridges
And culverts
Shivering to keep warm.
Faint remembrances-
Hollywood, sweet cascading stars,
While a camera rolls.
A grayer bus pulled out,
As I tugged my knees
To my chest to keep the tears
From spilling out and spoiling
The faded luster from my mind.
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