California is burning with
premature smiles, highways
littered with mechanical
insects, foaming at the mouths

They make a beeline
for the stairs, going
nowhere they sigh

and wonder how

or why

they got packed
in so tight; we're much better

than sardines, much
better than peas

Another valley
is carved across

a November
sunset

The bridge smiles upon
these fiendish ghouls, sheds
a few fall leaves and opens
it's arms wide;

welcoming the ever flowing
upper/middle

class tide.