There’s a circus tent in my yard
It’s big and wide,
And stands with pride,
A fortress at night

There’s a circus tent in my yard
In every yard on the block
However empty they are in the day
In the dark the clowns flock
Big and tall
Or micro small
They all have the same wardrobe of despair

I want to grab their hand
And lean down man to man
Say that I have joined a circus or two
And know the feeling of solitude
But they will simply honk their horns
Look at me with scorn
Because I do not know the Canadian cold
Is what makes their noses red
I do not know that their faces are frozen,
not white painted on their head

There’s a circus tent in my city
It’s big and wide
But there’s no clowns in sight
Only people to pity
For whom we cannot provide

There’s a clown in my yard
But he does not sit in a tent
Instead he sports a suit and tie
Seemingly never the bad guy
Justin Trudeau repent!

there were dandelions on the grass
dear girl, the smell of an Alcatraz flower is fresh on my linen
but sometimes I look back
and wonder if this city wears a too thick a coat
while it struts pantless over the sidewalks of
Macarther Park

there is liturgy mumbled, a woman waving her hands in the air–
Sunday school prayers being learned in Spanish
tri-folded pamphlets on the floor
and gum over the pavement blackened by the cooperative march
of immigrant workers speaking in all tongues and carrying
on their backs, the tower of babel while halted at a red light

heavy cargo trucks speeding down Alameda Street
wearing down the road and the patience of drivers
tents multiplied, and R.V's lining the streets  
the old buildings being torn down and neighboring apartments  getting face-lifts  
"beautification"
costs
more than headshots–
more than a rhinoplasty–
more than the real estate of DTLA–
when you see two kids come out of a tent with their school backpacks on
–you begin to grasp the price

Is this what Keats meant: "A thing of beauty is a joy forever "
even while destitute
the neon pink on their bags seemed like another gift of spring
and their perseverance the paragon of  a psalm of life

It is raining   and it is Christmas in L.A
the home       of paramount pictures  and the home        of skid row

Each drop multiples         heavy
like the narratives             given
to justify                             why
some deserve to be           out on the streets

on day like this when the water pours and seeps into their tents   bridges cannot hide or cover                         our collective apathy                           (shame) as we cross  
into the next decade    “i am not to blame
if he/ she / they            don’t have a home
what a shame.”