to walk in los angeles
is maybe where the homeless
man or woman might tell
that you’ve been walking more than
they have;
while they watch you as you pass
with side eyed confused looks
“he must not be from here”
they say as they carry on to their tents
abandoned by the sun and by the seas
eyes they have for others
the rays and the sun and the smog
with no eyes for them
is to wait in line
as if one was stuck in traffic
masks to cover faces
the queue moving slowly
beckoning coughs
to spread a virus in a jail cell tent
swabs to grab saliva
“have you been a good boy?”
or
was your journey more important
your breath more needed
to stop the sweat from clogging
up your pores
to stop the rush of the recent jeep
that sped down the block
clipped the side of a mother and her children
turned out to avoid the next mother
and slowly squealed
screech
screech
screech
until it landed on its head
is to be on flat earth
unsolid ground
cracks in the middle
of the streets that run forever
quieter now than they’ve ever been
before
sunglasses near the trash that hid their
tired eyes
froufrou hats that covered
falling hair
clothes that warmed the thin bones
underneath
the hollywood sign
to walk in los angleles…
is to walk a very long time