Marooned in Sunset Rust

Nothing like nada
                              a drip of blue be-drizzled
                              of green
                                                & galvanized steel

              beneath the dark of the summertime
              sun
                              bombing the coast highway
where I get paid in cheeseburgers
              & Mexican beer

Thinking about the seagreen Yater pocket rocket
& the baby Yater spoon
in Dale Herd’s basement
in Beverly Hills

relics not of this world but the next

& from there I drove my mom up to Zuma
for a late lunch wondering how many times I’ve
taken this road or has this road taken me?

All those times I drove it with my eyes shut
so as to feel every bend in the pavement
as it coincides with every wave that curls
in around the point

rippling through the file of polaroid snapshots
in my head the palette of faded colors
reaching from there to here