A priest picks and shovels
Dirt at Saint Michael’s,
Digging in the courtyard.

Next door at Carlsbad Shores,
The blue woman
Stands at her window.

Beyond the resthome,
A waiter silverwares tables
For the lunch crowd

At Fresco’s Ristorante.
We are all responsible
For something, some calling

To soften the hours
After the morning news.
The priest shovels

Balls of earth
Wired with dandelions.
Pink and yellow roses

Wait to be transplanted.
How much of us
Has been uprooted, excavated,

Replaced by charming
Blooms?  The blue woman
Remains at her window.

She is watching
Clouds build mountains
Over the sea.

This New Baby card
Says on the back

It's printed on
Recycled paper.

If I hold it up to the light
Just right,

I can make out
The Obituaries

From the L.A. Times,
January something, 1969.