The sun rises,
brightening a dead land.
Graffitied buses zip by
stocked with the working dead.
Women rummage through
trash cans
searching for the
shine of aluminum.
The sidewalk is cracked
and lifeless.
Smog begins its
relentless bear hug
while the lines stack
up on the humming,
gritty freeway.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
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2 comments:
So, Wright St. Is a little street off of Pico in downtown LA. My grandparents moved there from Oklahoma and lived there for years. My grandma speaks of it ver fondly. We took her back there a year or so ago and where she lived is pretty much right where the 10 and 110 meet. It's basically nothing and it depressed the hell out of my Grandma. So these are companions (I) is then (II) is now.
These poems are playing with each other wonderfully. I love how the street is active in waking the sun in I, which is deeply contrasted by its passivity in II. There's a sense of hope in I, accentuated in the morning hour. The fact that morning shines death in II makes it all the more haunting and depressing. Then looks like 42nd Street compared to Now. Good stuff, Mr. Andrews! I like that you're continuing on with your grandparents' collection.
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