Friday, September 11, 2020


Retention Pond

The fountain in the retention pond
Erupts in shocks of wheat
That peel away and fall back down.

Around and around it goes,

Dissipated mists replaced

By brackish storm drain runoff

Cycled by invisible mechanical pumps.

Yeah I know it’s fake,

That the water isn’t potable.

But it’s still water,

Dutifully following inscrutable orders.

I still see the morning orange glowering 

Behind its arching apical spray.

And close up, down on the benches

Along the kitschy walkway,

The roar of the splashdown crash

Is arguably just as real,

When you close your eyes,

As the dawn Pacific surf.


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