Thinking of Dead Poets Among the Homeless

A rare rain
in Los Angeles.
NPR a white noise
on the car radio, 
as I stare down
the homeless makeshift shelters littering
the Cahuenga Blvd Exit,
and my son, an expert freeway driver,
asks:

Do you know the recently dead poet they are speaking of?

But, I was not listening to the car radio,
I was thinking of rain in the desert,
homeless in the streets,
and the manicured gardens behind the tall gates.

But, my son kept on asking,
Don’t you know this poet,
our lives one unending game of Jeopardy.

Then, I heard the commentator quote:

Let us stifle under mud at the pond’s edge, 
and affirm that it is fitting and delicious to lose everything.

Of course, I knew the poet,
so many dead poets,
so many homeless,
so many lawns being cared for
by those living far from the 101,
speaking in various tongues,
residing in their own makeshift poems.

Laurie Kuntz is a widely published poet and film producer. Her newest poetry book. The Moon Over My Mother’s House is forthcoming from Finishing Line Press. For more information visit her here.