Postcards

I said bookends
but I meant a certain street:
the market at one end,
the post office at the other.

*

The smell of rain
above a dusty track
where ponies and the pony
boys wait for tourists.

*

Have you ever been
a passenger on a bus,
one side completely open?
The road, bent around a cliff.

*

The goats eat,
sure-footed, among
the rocky outcrop.
No one charters them.

*

Behind glass, mouths
open to sing a chorus
in their empty orchestra.
Trays of beer and hot peanuts.

*

MacArthur Park is always
melting in the dark.
From the promontory, the sea
is visible on clear days.

*

The last time I was there,
I lifted the latch
off the gate. I said
I’m going instead of goodbye.

*

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