Los Angeles

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.

by Charlotte Ballard

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