Digging after some small perfect diamond
To place into a hand that never fondled one before
Nor could even hold one now,
It’s corporeal being burned away in grieving,
I reach for my pen
I cannot find it with my vision pulsing so in liquid sorrow.
It is mislaid among the clutter
That ***** traps my days and roils my mind in darkened hours
      

I’m angry at the world
For not playing fair
And then mocking me
When I do

I hate all the apathy
That stands and observes
And makes no attempt
To enforce the rules

I’m angry at all
That I have to give up
To wait for my turn
And take only my share

I hate that the meaning
Of good has been altered
To apply to group ethics
That are coated in shame

I’m angry to see
How the cheaters will win
And honesty comes
A poor second

I hate all the smugness
(Check Paul Ryan’s face)
And those who are like him
Cheating their way to their goal

I’m angry to be cursed
With the gene of fair play
Permanent - same as
The brown of my eyes

I hate that I have to
Spend so much time hating
Hate is an acid
Dissolving my soul
                    ljm

The jar is mostly empty -
Firm packed words and phrases
Taken handfuls at a time
And flung at parchment and the world

They did not boomerang to fill the void
Replenishing what was taken.  

The clotheslines of the hoi-polloi
Are burdened with the excess,
Straining in the winds of nonchalance
Exhibiting the lack of contemplation.

Do the thoughts that ride those words
Accept that they will blow away like dust.
         ljm

She was everybody’s sweetheart;
Respected, if not loved by one and all
But they couldn’t even put her in the ground
Before they started choosing her replacement.
LJM

I picked up my pencil
And sat down to write
I had nothing to say, for
I’m not very bright.

But that didn’t stop me
I needed a Pome
I needed to scribble
A life-changing tome.

I sweated a little.
I crossed out a lot.
I hoped it was brilliant.
I sensed it was not.

I read the New Yorker
Their poems are obscure
I may write only drivel
But my meaning is clear.

So now I am finished.
I’ll read it and you
Then go get a pencil-
Be a famed poet too.
           ljm

Back when I was in my prime
A hundred thousand years ago
I used to write a lot in rhyme
Like samples that you see below

I’ve always had a love for trees
And also for the ocean
I’m happy in a mountain breeze
It calms me like a potion

Sometimes I write in one-one-two
A little tricky that is true
But the struggle was worthwhile
If what I’d written made me smile

l loved creating funny verse
A lot of it was stupid
I tried and tried but it got worse
I wrote of love and cupid

I never mastered the repeat
Or other fancy forms
I always went down to defeat
And shed my tears in storms

I never mastered the repeat
I struggled on in vain
I always went down to defeat
And couldn’t stand the pain

The ***** ahead I need to climb
Looks like it’s made of glass
And though I try it one more time
I always end up on my ***.
ljm

Angles and arches
Niches and hallways
Surprising new spaces
Rough on the outside.
Smooth on the inside
Bright by the windows
Dark in the corners
The shape of my home
The arc of my life.
ljm

Doomed
The writing on the wall
Cannot be scrubbed away
Or painted over.
It is burned into the surface.

Doomed
The carefully wound clock
Has lost it’s main spring
And the hands no longer move,
Though the alarm still rings.

Doomed
The rising of the tide
Eats steadily at
The edges of the castle
So skillfully constructed.

Doomed
The wind has changed direction
And the breeze become a gale.
The aging oak tree
Lacks to roots to save it.

Doomed
The fragile flower’s beauty
Is no match for the equipment
Paving over gardens built
For other times and people.
                   ljm

The Muse who promised I could write
Has shamed me in a public way
By dressing me in Poet’s gowns
And nudging me into the light,

While all my songs are in one key
And the words I paint are common.

The shining glow of that first bow
Reinforced my fantasy,
Encouraged me to carry on
And offer up my skimpy soul

To those who know the Emperor
And what he does and does not wear.

Calliope assured me I could sing
(With fingers crossed behind her back)
And handed me a lyric pen
That didn’t hold a lot of ink.

She told the orchestra to begin
And handed me the microphone.

She promised hollyhocks and orchids,
And pillowy clouds in pale blue skies.
She said I’d write harpsichords and Temple Bells
And paint sonatas in the morning sun.

I held out my basket but it remained empty
I extended my hand, but it was not taken.

I stand ashamed at center Stage
Immersed in beauty I can’t create;
Red faced at my lack of talent
To even manage playing chopsticks.
              ljm

Down at the bottom of this hole
I worked so long and hard to dig
I can barely see the sunlight any more.

My feet are molding from the salty damp
That doesn’t come from rain
Or subterranean springs or rivers.

My shovel leans against the wall,
It’s wooden handle crimsoned
On the dirt that also isn’t paint.

Impossible for wind to reach me
Way down here, so what’s that howling
That I hear?  Could it possibly be me?
                ljm

DOWNPOUR

The rains came down in
The darkness before dawn.
Great thundering waterfalls
That beat tattoos on metal roofs
And sailed the gutter leaves like boats
In some fantastic competition
To make it to the storm drain first.

In this parched and arid state
It waked up sleepers with a start
Who rushed to roll up windows in the car.
And sent the teenaged paper boy
Rushing after plastic bags.
In thirty minutes it was gone
And you would never know it rained.

So thirsty is Nevada soil
That deluge never is enough.
The Monsoon didn’t come this year,
The floods all happened somewhere else,
And rocky landscape withers in the torrid sun
Trying to recall the **** feel
Of moisture seeping through its stones

And every drop is Holy Water.
ljm

Springtime rain pays no attention
To everything that might get wet.
Yes, it stresses comprehension.
Springtime rain pays no attention
Rain creates a new dimension
And gets most everyone upset.
Springtime rain pays no attention
To everything that might get wet.
ljm

I found it on the floor of
the women’s dressing room
after a concert.
The ladies were long gone
and I was clearing up.
It was one inch long and
the wings were one inch wide.
The dragonfly had
two overlapping oval wings
on each side
and a long curved tail.
The body and tail
were set with butterscotch
yellow rhinestones.
The wings held chartreuse stones.
Two white rhinestones were the eyes.
The quality of the stones
was extraordinary
though the setting
was not really gold.

When I took it to my office
to put it
in the lost and found
my extra many ceiling lights
made it sparkle
like in a jewelry store display.
I put it on a stack of tissues
I keep at the ready on my desk
so I could see it
any time I wanted.
When I moved my head
just slightly, it would make
the sparkles seem to move as well.
It made me very happy
just to look at it
and I have no idea why.

Nobody called to claim the pin
It’s value is likely very small
But it’s come to symbolize some of
The shiny things I hope to capture
In the time remaining of my life.

It won’t be long ‘til I
am forced to
spread my own frail wings
and fly
from this cocooned
career of work.
Perhaps the dragonfly
will be a talisman
and lead me to
the meadows
I have dreamed of:
awash in creativity,
accomplishments rewarded,
and never any gales
of jealousy
or the thunderclouds of
evil that
rattle my windows here.

On the day when everything
is packed and shipped, my
keys turned in,
lights turned off
for the last time
and I am free, I will pin the
dragonfly
to my collar and
and take us looking
for that meadow.
             ljm

I made an icon of a dragonfly pin I found
It rested on my desk under many ceiling lights
Enthralling me with green and golden sparkles
As I went about my daily grind.

I took it with me when I left for home
To continue my enjoyment.
It was fine out in the sun-lit yard
But once indoors, lost all it’s glisten.

It seems the magic wasn’t in the pin
But in the way the office lights fell on it.
In ordinary household light
It was just a costume jewelry pin.

I couldn’t make it scintillate
No matter how I held it up
To every fixture in the house
It was just a pretty shape with stones

A thing with ordinary charm
That anyone could buy and lose
And someone find and be entranced -
A parallel to many lives.
And mine.
ljm

The ravels in my sleeve of care
Grow longer every night-
Especially in the morning
When I struggle back to sleep
From waking up too early

Only to be bushwhacked
By brigades of unsolved problems,
Battalions of frustration
And whole Armies of defeatment
Marching out to meet me.

While you’re asleep your secret mind
Is solving all the puzzles
That unhinge the hours when you’re awake
And dodging slings and arrows.
That is the scholar’s promise.

That is what the con men say
In psychiatric clinics
Where they write the books
Explaining what it means to fly
And why we never land when falling.

Sleep refreshes and renews-
At least that is the theory.
It’s not supposed to wear you out
And beat you down while dreaming
Out the scripts you didn’t write.

When the raveling is complete
And both my sleeves have come undone
Will I dream of flowered fields
And happy times, successes and rewarding
Or will it end and I no longer dream at all.
                    ljm

Am I to be forever maimed
By a childhood I did not devise
Pulled down from every step I've gained
By the phantoms of my night
That twist and shift and leave me bare
In that harshest light of scorn-
That cannot be explained away
And haunt me even as I  rise
To struggle up the stairs again.
                          ljm

Floating on an inner tube
Just above the falls
Never mind the current
The joy of summer calls.
ljm

In the stony desert heat
The muse has blisters on her feet.
The blazing wind whips up her hair
Til she can’t see the crevice there
And falls headfirst into oblivion.
Perfect name for a sandy gully
She can not crawl out of.

Who will save the injured muse-
Give her water, bind her wound
Lead her back to safer ground
Give her parchment and her quill?
No one in this neighborhood
Of empty window, bolted doors.
I fear the muse is on her own.
ljm

Desolation
All the should-haves stacked like prison walls
Make it impossible to see the sky
What was big is now too small and
Cannot hold the folly on it’s way to bury us.
Crippled by the scorch, it won’t be possible
To rearrange ourselves out of this crisis.

Desperation
Incapable of letting go the few nice things
That beautified our former lives,
We know the tide is rising and we will sink
Beneath the weight of all the detritus we clutch,
Paying triple for the privilege of watching
As we drown in bad decisions and remorse.

Depression
Midnight tears that vanish in the arid air,
Stifled sobs that can’t repair the breach
Or heal the wounded vision of tomorrow
That inches ever closer, in the waking hours
Once designated as the time for sleep
Now put to dreary use as time for weeping.

Denigration
Too pale for the blazing sun but briefly,
We cower in the no less burning shade
And guard the meagre treasures of our lifetime,
Heaped in unmarked cartons in the corner
Where they wait for designation to the dump
Or hauled off piecemeal to a resale place

Denouement
We could have seen that this would happen
And lanced the hoarder’s boil before it broke.
It would have been so less expensive
In the pocketbook and in the soul
But here we sit at midnight crying
As catastrophe knocks on the door.
                                        ljm

What’s the point and where’s the purpose -
Writing things won’t make them happen.
The stories on the TV set
Are someone else’s version
Of a life we’ll never live or know.

Why keep pressing on when there’s no map
And all the street signs are in Latin.
Satisfaction can’t be gained
When they won’t let you finish
Any project your own way.

Who saw where the pathway turned
And didn’t take the time to tell us.
The hand that mans the tiller is not mine.
I spend my time below the decks now
Ever longing just to see the stars.
ljm

Rumbles of
          Thunder
Light the candles of my mind
safely shielded from the
          Winds
of conflagration
Fire has never been my friend
There are
          Ashes
on my forehead
from the rubble at my feet

Mainsails billow in my consciousness
as a crimson mistral sets my boat
Out to sea
to search for the
                    Giant Drum
That lightning plays upon
when dybbuks from the ocean deeps
                   Rise Up
To sink my craft and all aboard in
                      Flaming Parodies
Of a movie Viking funeral
        **ljm

Where would we be had Al Gore been elected-
If Florida and the Supremes hadn’t blatantly cheated
To get their boy into the White House.

Would these 20 years past still have been wasted,
Bowing down to the Miners and the big Oil Cartels.
Would the heat of the Earth have continued to grow
At a pace that promised and guarantees doom.

Or would saner minds maybe have listened
To scientists with just one agenda in mind
Trying to stop the drumroll of destruction
And preserve this world God gave us to live on.

I don’t have an answer - do you?
ljm

Will we ever find our way
Through the menace of this forest
And the storm now swirling through it.
Can we avoid the lashing wind
And hidden things that sting us.

Will sunlight ever penetrate
The darkness of these shadows.
Have we dropped sufficient crumbs
To follow back to safety
Or are they all dissolved in puddles

Will we be be soaked and blown away
Lost to to everything we love
Or find we stashed a flashlight
In a pocket we forgot
And we can make our way back home.
       ljm

My emotions are a weather vane
Something my hubby knows
I laugh, I cry, I live, I  ‘die'
Whichever the way life blows.

I drown myself in salty tears
I sink to the ocean’s floor
Then I rise and build a boat
And row myself to shore.

I’m living in a hostile place
That wants to fry my bones
But I have Air and Water there
So you will hear no moans.

I take that back - there will be moans
Because that’s what I do
I weep and wail to no avail
And then I muddle through.

My pen lives in the shadows
While my life lives in the sun
Trust my perseverance
Until this race is run.
ljm

When sadness is your occupation
And weariness your pay
There’s not a lot of point in asking for a raise
Or an extra day’s vacation.
               ljm

I told everyone that I’d be fine -
They dynamited my golden years
And put the pieces in the trash -
But I said I would be OK.

I have resources and reserves
That paved the way
Past rocky highways in the past
And would suffice me once again.

I reassured the ones who wept
That this was not to be an ending -
That I had maps and GPS
To guide me to a safer haven.

But when I looked inside the box
Containing my bravado
There was a hug and a kindly word
And nothing else to help me.

Shocked at all that emptiness
The first thing that I did was cry
And gape into that hollow space
To wonder where the courage went.

But when I saw the others stare
I clamped the lid back on real tight
And glued a smile onto my face,
Picked up my box and strode away.

Now I’m hidden safe at home
Astonished at my disbelief
That years could warp away and melt
The fortitude I counted on.

That I should find myself alone
With nothing but a broken crutch
To help me cross the quicksand bog
And locate solid ground again.

How shall I navigate the mire?
My GPS and maps are gone.
Bravura’s just a memory.
I’m not the big girl after all,

There is no Mommie I can call
No friend to offer magic beans
This time I find myself alone
To see if I can find a way
To fill back up that empty box.
ljm

Coming down the street I see
20 folks with masks just three
I ask them why they don’t comply
They offer me a fast black eye

They say they have a legal right
To infect anyone they might
And I should stifle what I say
Or they will send a sneeze my way

They say the bug is just a myth
Nothing they’ll be dealing with
They say they take their cue from Trump
And if he tells them, they will  jump

But til that day they won’t believe
There’s any germ they can receive
And if their Gramma catches it
It was just a bad luck hit

They’re going to a rave tonight
They know that it will be all right
The hundreds there are super cool
And no one there will be a fool.

One of that group, a guy named Weaver
Said feel me - do I have a fever
I think I maybe don’t feel well
I may have caught it - who can tell

They all laughed and walked away
To them another normal day.
I cross the street to give them space
Can’t chance them breathing in my face

I find it so mysterious
That any group could be so dumb
So selfish and oblivious
Of reckonings that soon will come. ljm

Small surprises
Little disappointments
Tiny Malfunctions
Minuscule disasters
Rust along the edges
Multiple reasons why
The answer is a no.
                         LJM

Why do I reach out to comfort the whole rest of the world
And have no pity for the little girl that hides in my dark corners.
Why do I extend the hand of empathy to everyone but me.
Why is it I don't find me worthy of the love I give to others.

There is no answer to those painful questions.
No one to ask - no book to read.
I either find a pathway to the sunshine
Or content myself to live in shade.

Kneeling at the altar of the Sleep Gods
In supplication and in need
I plead for this thunder storm of stress to stop
And the lightning flash scenarios to abate.
My ragged sleeve of care needs knitting up
And I can not afford to buy the yarn.
ljm

I  had  to  delete  this  poem  because  the  algorithm  that controls posts won't  let  it  post  in  the  layout  I  designed  for  it.  I couldn't find  a  hack  to  get  around  it  puting  up  a  looong  string­ of  lines,  one directly  below  the  other.  The  way  it  appeared  was  o­ff-putting  and  I'm  not  surprised  no  one  read  it.   This  is  not  the  first  time  this  has  happened  to  a  shap­ed  write  
of  mine.  Yet  I see other  writes in all sorts of wonderful shapes.   What am  I  doing  wrong?

Tangled up in webs of longing
To be who I can never be
My struggles only draw strands tighter
So they can strangle who I really am.
                                   LJM

She looked and looked at the storm-black sky
And couldn't visualize it blue.
But still somewhere down deep within her
She knew the sun would shine again.
                                  

Like a pack of yowling feral cats
Fighting in a ghetto alley
We snarl and hiss and arch our backs
Baring claws at one another.

We wound our spirits and our souls
In endless rounds of recrimination
That swings like a giant pendulum
But never moves the clock hands.

There’d be catnip enough for everyone
If the fat cats didn’t hoard it.
There’d be beds for all of us to sleep in
If the slumlords didn’t lock them up.

Maybe we need to band together,
The Tabbies and the Calicos,
The Tomcats and the *******
And see if we can find a way
To build a world we all can live in.
ljm

Longer than she loved me has she only tolerated
What she cannot change - her birth -
Though loudly she proclaims that isn't true.

Longer than her childhood are the years
That flowed between the bad one and our now,
When mended teacups still won't hold the tea,

No matter that I add more glue and paint
And fill it carefully with nothing very hot
And place it always on a saucer.

Still it leaks and threatens to give way
Scalding both of us again
With selfish pain and angry, spiteful hurt.

More days than she was mine have passed
As I became bystander on the curb
To only watch and never join her on parade.

More weeks than I was happy am I sad-
I dropped the cup-she stepped on it
And now the ragged pieces don't quite fit.

It makes no difference how I tried
Or what I paid in pain and guilt,
I cannot make the teacup whole.

So I give her the newest one
And take the mended one for me.
I never really cared for tea and we're all out of cocoa.
ljm

I tried for days
To write a poem
That captures all
The joys that
We have known
And all the problems
We have solved.

I  made a list
Of all the times
Our tie was
Stretched near breaking,
And I marveled
At the unseen strength
That pulled us
Back together.

The years have not
Been kind to me
But you have been
Forbearing -
Always there
To lift me up
And keep us
Moving forward.

So as we start
Another year
We’ll face it all
Together.
In a bond unshakeable
That binds our love
Forever.
ljm

I’ll never see the daffodils again.
They come up only in the spring
And I’ll be somewhere that I hate.

They’ll be a surprise for who lives there
A bonus for fixing up the place -
A victim of benign neglect.

I wonder if the Lilly bulbs will bloom again
Special gift, enjoyed and planted by the wall
Tended well. in hopes of more red glory.

Will the roses thrive under better care
And bloom in cycles all year long
To perfume the air for someone else.

The mouses in the memory bower
Will sleep in peace without their markers
And Poco’s stone will go with us.

How much will change - how much will not
When new eyes glance around the rooms
And measure the back garden.

Will everything be taken down
So shiny new can take it’s place
And relegate its memory to a closet

There is no way that I can know
I’ll have to wait and see and hope
That some small touch of me remains
In walls that warmed me for thirty years.
ljm

No son-in-law and no grand children.
One more half-empty glass on my shelf.
One more sign that I failed as a mother.

No fancy house, no brand new car.
Not much in my bank account.
Another sign I failed as a mogul.

No accolades, no published works
A folio relatives said was dreary.
A very clear sign I failed as a poet.

All those years and all that sweat.
And everything came up a cropper.
At least I can say I excelled at failing.
ljm

Hoping for a symphony
Expecting just a penny whistle.
Praying for a miracle
Getting a vague promise.
Looking for the Hollyhocks
Finding wilted daisies.

Offering a helping hand
Finding no one needs one.
Asking for a helping hand
No one reaches out to me.
Giving one last urgent try
I write my number on the wall.

And hunker down behind a hedge
To see if anybody reads it.
Or if they only walk on by
Pursuing other goals and visions
That have no bearing on my needs
And leave me here with hands outreaching.
ljm

Joy stills the pen that gushes forth in sorrow.
Happness is lived, not written down.
Tears can best be dried on ink soaked paper.

Happiness will dance off of the pages.
Heartbreak rides on words into catharsis.
The butterfly of glee can not be captured.

Pain is limned in black and trapped by parchment.
Happiness is painted on the sky.
Sadness wallows in the dirt of midnight.

So my pages overflow with misery
While gladness hides away inside my heart.
                                ljm

If the government can swear by fictitious statements

And then “walk them back” a little later

I’m going to join the fabrication party.

I hearby walk back my age by 20 years
And my weight by 20 pounds.
                   ljm

if I could only find my way
Through the gullies dug between my eyes
To quell the anger seething there
That blocks my view of Marigolds

If I could figure out a way
To navigate the wrinkled brow
And gently smooth away the frown
That generates the thunder

If I could calm the troubled orbs
That see the roadblock not the road
And show them how to look again
To see a new reality

Than I would have a mended face
To offer to the world at large
And maybe they would see the change
And welcome my serenity
   ljm

She stands before the bathroom mirror
Creating several different faces
Tryng to find the one that doesn’t
Make her look so tired and old.

Some of them make her look ill
A couple more look silly.
The one she finally settles on:
A wan and disappointed smile -

Accepted as least ugly of the bunch
It’s not the face she’d hoped to wear
In this the Autumn of her life.
She expected some small trace
Of former beauty to remain.

She tried to make a little sparkle
To liven up her somber eyes
And find the muscle in her cheek
That lifts her lips into a grin.

A sorry rictus of despair
Was all that effort brought her
So she gave up and threw the switch
And slipped away in darkness
ljm

She stands before the bathroom mirror
Creating several different faces
Tryng to find the one that doesn’t
Make her look so tired and old.

Some of them make her look ill
A couple more look silly.
The one she finally settles on:
A wan and disappointed smile -

Accepted as least ugly of the bunch
It’s not the face she’d hoped to wear
In this the Autumn of her life.
She expected some small trace
Of former beauty to remain.

She tried to make a little sparkle
To liven up her somber eyes
And find the muscle in her cheek
That lifts her lips into a grin.

A sorry rictus of despair
Was all that effort brought her
So she gave up and threw the switch
And slipped away in darkness
ljm

Things aren’t where I put them anymore.
I so carefully write down where they belong
And place them neatly in their spot
But when I later reach for them
The spot is gone and so are they.

I stand embarrassed at the desk-
The meeting is next week and not today.
But this morning when I read my notes
It just said One O’clock and don’t be late.
I made an extra trip to get there.

How could I have missed the date.
If I had canceled as I’d planned,
They would have told me not today
And saved me driving across town
To end up crying in the car.

A and B are not connecting lately-
The thoughts that ought to follow on
Stay self contained and singular.
They never meet across the void
To form cohesion and make sense.

My best view is aftersight.
I see too late had I done this
It would have saved me doing that.
Double trips become the norm.
My cheek is sore from slapping it.

The little errors multiply
Until they form an oversite
And grow to a catastrophe
That coping cannot remedy
And there’s no way around it.

The dictionary lists all words
In alphabetic order.
My mental warehouse stacks them up
Behind a bunch of useless facts  
In places I can’t find them.

The names of places and old friends
Are locked up in the topmost cupboards
And everyone will have to wait
Until I climb a sturdy stool
And search around to find them.

One by one these glitches have no meaning.
Two-by-two, it’s just a stressful week
But three or four and every day
Portends a black fog rolling in
And I’m searching for a place to hide.
ljm

The Merry-Go-Round is stopping - I can hear the music fade.
I can't believe it's ending,  that the last tune has been played.
My horse is still in prance formation - she wants to go again.
How do I say the ride is over and all good things must end.

How do I slack the tightly held rein
How do I slip from astride
How do I ease the stabbing of pains
That tell me this was my last ride.

The carnival is closing - I can see them start to pack.
I don't want it to leave us - it may never again come back.
I haven't ridden all the rides yet - I haven't played the games.
How do I turn and go forever, forgetting all their names.

How do I put the coins away
That I had planned to spend
How save for them for a rainy day
And still have some to lend.

The festival is over - all the revelers are gone.
The only sign they've been here are the footprints on the lawn.
I have not finished celebrating - I want to laugh some more
How do I know the dance has ended - it never was before.

How do I turn and head for home
This was my home, you see
How can I feel that if I roam
I'll find a place for me.
                

FAILURE

Three stalwart kings and a wannabe queen.
How did she not make it to the throne
Two couldn’t do it and the third refused
So the jeweled seat remained vacant.

An army of lovers professing faith
To a heart looking its own castle
But when she broke down on the 405
Not one came to change her flat tire.

A mountain of effort dampened with sweat
Proved too slippery to climb on
And those with a rope to pull her on up
Were too busy cleaning their crampons.

Three rays of sunlight in a world filled with shade
She tried to step into those circles
But the shadows held invisible fences
And she only got to the edges.

Three strikes is out and third time’s a charm
A trinity rules in the heavens
Don Quixote tilted three windmills
And all Genies grant only three wishes

Life turned as cold as a three dog night
And the mountain in surmountable.
Time to pack life into three shiny pods
And move them to Laughlin, Nevada.
ljm