San Bernardino Postcard (poetry)

A line of palm trees standing demure
before the great purple face
of the city’s eponymous mountains
god-gifted with resort quality snow.

Behind the trees, glinting and sprawling
like the many mansions of God
are the warehouses of Stater Bros. markets,
their trucks lining the city’s eponymous avenue
ready to serve it first, before serving the rest
of the southern half of the state.

Industry portrait
of one local boy
done good—
chamber picture
of the wished-for city.

-M. Ashley

2 thoughts on “San Bernardino Postcard (poetry)

  1. Reading palms is difficult. The Horatio Alger spirit has struggled through the heroes of the Great Depression, World War 2, and the post-war boom and optimism. In iconic history the many gold rushes have had their mountains, their mole hills grown large, and yet many are left behind in purple prose’s majesty, supermarkets, supermen, comic heroes, and tragic comedy that leaves behind a forgotten wasteland of failed social experiments. Somewhere crumbs are still collected, and thrown to the birds who can still fly away if the winds would not be too hot for a day and the rain for floods would stay away lurking in the eponymous mountains like the wrath that waits for no one.

    Liked by 1 person

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