there are parts of L.A.
that look just fine
where the front lawns
boast green
from behind picket fences
and mullioned windows
offer cross-hatched portraits
of perfect families
good, caring mothers
and strong,
hard-working fathers
who love their
incandescent children
perfect families
from Rockwell's America
in the warmth of their homes
underneath the growing
billows of smoke
riding the backs of
the Santa Anas
galloping through town
as the pungent,
ashen reminder
of a destitute woman's
heirloom wedding dress
and a crying boy's football
