Monday, May 11, 2015

Angel City Summer - poem


                That morning
                reckoning the day’s coming heat,
                my eyes ponder the thickness of morning mists
                against low slung hills.
                Early clearing means desiccation for every
                lip, brow and leaf scattered across this
                hot sprawling urban carpet.
                And up there in the canyons,
                the spring green grasses
                that earlier rode the hills,
                tossed with lively signatures of
                rust colored poppies, have all withered.

                The yellow freckles of wild mustard
                and scotch broom remaining there, 
                disappear a little each day.
                Soon deer and coyote will come forward
                into the oak strewn gorges,
                dodging cars, desperate for water
                with the scent of wild mint and anise
                hovering on their dusty fur.

                There, a pile of coyote scat marbled with
                bits of rabbit pelt sits next to
                a graffiti covered stop sign
                shimmering in the heat.
                             We all hunt the shade.

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