This used to be Mission Beach
but not anymore. So-Cal is gone,
so are the Mormons and the Oakies too,
all swallowed in The Quake.

Now we lie here on our backs baking
in Memphis sands, stripped dust bowls.

Obsolete oil machinery pump
in the background, serenading us,
sucking up magma clear to China.

Revolted, I bite the inside of my cheek
rubbing her sharkskin with cocoa butter,
dreaming of grass and palms trees.

We are but dried crustaceans skittering
along dead lands as it seems cars
no longer need gasoline,
but still drain our resources.

I see seagulls and tonight I'll fry
them in butter because there is nothing left.

Report Story

byNeonurotic© 3 comments/ 2232 views/ 1 favorites

Share the love

Report a Bug

1 Pages:1
by Anonymous

If the above comment contains any ads, links, or breaks Literotica rules, please report it.

There are no recent comments (3 older comments) - Click here to add a comment to this poem or Show more comments or Read All User Comments (3)

Add a

Post a public comment on this submission.

Post comment as (click to select):

Preview comment

Forgot your password?

Please wait

Change picture

Your current user avatar, all sizes:

Default size User Picture  Medium size User Picture  Small size User Picture  Tiny size User Picture

You have a new user avatar waiting for moderation.

Select new user avatar: