The parrots brought here as pets’
descendants fly free
but forget without the rainforest
how to sing
not unlike the war-phanned infants
wealthy but barren nations
keep adopting.
It’s sunrise in LA,
can you hear over the radio ads
all the transplants’
cacophonous squawking?
There are brown mountains beyond
all the accident lawyers’ billboards
and firefighter for higher
getting paid when they’re torched.
And drowned cultures behind
every strip mall restaurant’s laminated menu
with metal bars on the windows
that block the nightwalkers’ hands
but not the demolition’s noise.
Our minds are route maps
thoughts traverse by habit
like sex-trafficked rivers.
There’s only one way to reach out
in this city of angels hanging
in rosaries off rearview mirrors
casting shadows on stonefaced drivers
where there would have been tears.
The signs specify miles per hour
but not lives per highway exit.
Add up the trees and their ghosts
or all the animals
not cute enough to get stuffed
or fierce enough to be sports mascots
for the stadiums whose teams
wanted and believed in more
than their first homes could give them too.