Waving Goodbye to California
Saturday Poetry Prompt: stellar steering
Watching out for trouble in American lands,
lines of fallibility drawn in California sands.
Water and shelter, necessity’s pleas,
garbage man delivers, garbage bag trees.
Freewheelin’ Calafia, and her pacific coast dreams,
leaves turning brown, got to flee the sin-scene.
Not one for compassionate goodbye’s,
clairvoyant alligators, or crocodile lies.
Little pink houses, sun setting strips,
Bear Flag Revolts, Sonoma’s gravel-less pits.
Velvet plumes of haze, ash-filled cigarette trays,
dingy motels like be-dimmed hipsters — just another roadside stay.
Small hours rocking at the Filmore, that day at the beach,
think I found my morning glory, a quarter-mile beyond my reach.
And that was a good day, a good day turned to night,
San Bernardino wild fires, and just like that, the flush take flight.
Can’t see for fuck, navigate my way thru this starless night,
lost rime of the adrift mariner, curse of the out of sight.
