Los Angeles Air Withered / Me

I blamed the smog first
for chronic bronchitis,
then for each of my failures
breaking into Hollywood.

My last time
in the Trader Joe’s
parking lot, BMWs
and convertibles.

I wore smudged sunglasses,
saw pigeons gather
before the same small gods
I wanted to become.

 

(originally published in Neologism Poetry Journal, Winter 2018)

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