the dirt patch under
the power plant
has seen some grim fairy tales
overlooking dreamstreet
the mangiest of mushrooms
grow there, spottily,
near dessicated evergreens
and faux palmettos
it was the last stop
on the groove line
& she, the last customer
stepping off,
she tossed the
Korbel bottle at
one of the dead trees
it turned to dust
just as the train stopped
this is what you get
when you make expensive things
look cheap, she burped,
just before the streetlights
blinked off
