Three Sisters, Los Angeles

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Head to her knees, her back’s to the statue of Beethoven brooding, his back to yanks she’s giving her hair, taking the veil

of gray by the fistful in Pershing Square under a fan palm, skirt of dead fronds and high-rise beyond.


She on a bench shadowed by the dome Chaplin cast as Dictator backdrop, her purple hat cardboard

elastically chinstrapped by the big heads of Jackie and Mack, the Robinson brothers, Jackie facing sunrise

looking to Brooklyn, Mack facing her wailing out Why at first light on Sunday, Why oh me why sobbed at the sky.


Where Avenue meets Boulevard she’s at the bus stop under its shelter hugging a rabbit, faded stuffed pink,

to kiss and to talk to, whisper a nickname as the bad traffic muffles her chanting a dollar one dollar a dollar for food