Palm Springs
They came here some time ago to
Get away from all their fame and
On every street left their names.
They built their homes in the sand,
Mid-Century Modern, the style
Covering up the purple of
Verbena and bringing here the
Crowds who now peep through their homes’ gates
Hoping to spy a small castle
And probably surprised at the
Modesty of flat roofs by pools
In which they’d swim during summer’s
Great heat, yet nothing like the flames
From strangers projecting upon
Them things that could not be true.
I wandered here one spring seeing
Homes of pianists with swimming
Pools shaped like those instruments they’d
Played, or little mail boxes there
Looking like a baby grand and
Thought it somehow strange that they would
Choose to live near farms of date palms
And sand blowing into great dunes
Settling into the bottoms of
Their beautiful blue swimming pools.
But we all have our little quirks
And now those people with their names
On that city’s every lane
Are, I pray, resting in peace from
Things that haunt us all while living.
April 2023
About This Poem
I don't really think this one needs much explanation. The photo is of the house of someone famous (which one I now forget) in Palm Springs.
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