How sad it is to journey to Santa Monica and I can't find it.
The open blue sky hides behind canyon walls
I look for glimpses of the sun and the sea, but they are also hard to find.
Instead winds tempest through the canyon walls like clothing being torn from a corpse.
I wander the narrow sidewalks as cars move slowly by.
I look at the trees, leafless without sunlight and air — looking old in their age
Nature corrupted by greed
Instead, I'm lost in an ocean of development
The sun caresses then quickly disappears
Traffic comes instead.
I look for the city manager but he has also moved on
The day ends as a curtain of sunlight falls that both hides and reveals.
Feeling defeated, I stretch my legs and turn toward home — feeling lost as my city is lost
As I wander home — how funny I can't find it — like Santa Monica it has also moved on
Ron Goldman
Santa Monica