rotten teeth to employ
a ward of dentists
on a twenty-four hour
schedule, and the waitresses,
waiters, all the plastic dreams
between them will ensure
a future legion of surgeons
in West LA, good or bad work
they don't care, anything
is better than the present,
especially if it's done
in white rooms
called sterile
on sheeted beds,
and they're so cool
wearing tight swimsuits
in summertime on Seal Beach,
with aching joints
that justify the painkillers
jumping in their pockets,
haggling at grocery stores
(to no luck)
and getting it back
or losing their checking
at the Hollywood Park Casino,
their car goes
when it goes,
no insurance,
no family to give a break,
just ocean wind
off the pacific coast,
with their thumb high,
hitching a ride back
to Melrose Avenue,
aside winners and losers,
all of them look the same
as everyone here shuffles mirrors
like vampires in denial,
a gentile teen writing
to be the next Bukowski,
or pretty boy with a mouthpiece
thinking there's room
for another Brando,
and the delusion is
that someone will pick them,
these future employees
of the local diner,
and they exist
on the forgettable
streets
you don't see,
trying to do
something big,
trying to do
nothing.
--
Brandon Shane is a poet and horticulturist, born in Yokosuka Japan. You can see his work in the Argyle Literary Magazine, Berlin Literary Review, Acropolis Journal, Grim & Gilded, Heimat Review, York Literary Review, Mersey Review, Prairie Home Mag, among many others. He would later graduate from Cal State Long Beach with a degree in English. Find him on Twitter @Ruishanewrites
Brandon Shane is a poet and horticulturist, born in Yokosuka Japan. You can see his work in the Argyle Literary Magazine, Berlin Literary Review, Acropolis Journal, Grim & Gilded, Heimat Review, York Literary Review, Mersey Review, Prairie Home Mag, among many others. He would later graduate from Cal State Long Beach with a degree in English. Find him on Twitter @Ruishanewrites