while I was in Glendale - 2

look at the way the sunshine plays
on the bunched leaves of some dried
woody scold on the drive
look at the leathery old woman with
her thinning dye-job hair tied up
in a plastic bag, nearly choking but not
quite close enough to her ravaged throat
look at the sign thanking for not doing
what I've barely begun to not start
look at the only payphone around for
miles --the only standing relic of collect calls
look at the white suburban dream
still railing against nature in the middle
of the desert --pumping gallon after gallon
of precious water into grass that wasn't
meant to grow
look at the paper box that lets you
know where you can still buy people
any night of the week, any color you like
look at the charity --petitioning the third
poorest people in the world to support
the second --see above, any color you like
look at the monuments to nothings that
never existed --the church of things
that aren't real things
look at the man who lives in a dump
and drives his BMW like he wants
to kill you and him at the same time