2001/vegas

I see a woman
reading The Unofficial
Guide to Las Vegas
and know we’d never
be friends.
A place I went
once in youth
and never again.
I’d like to visit
the neon graveyard
though,
on the outskirts
of town,
bits of sizzle
and glass,
broken
or whole.
Propped against
each other,
or lying
in the sand.
That’s what I
envision,
I’ve never
been.
Palms and fountains,
the Sahara
or Dunes.
No hint
of the test site
in the desert,
children who wore
dog tags to school
so they could
be identified,
in case.
Las Vegas
is the place
people go
to forget
all that.
And the plain
kitchens
with yellow formica
tables and kit cat
clocks.
It’s still the place
to forget
all that.

2/28/01