The neon signs check out at dawn
where even the winter moon had
shone at midnight, silver over gold.

A morning-after, February kind
of look about the streets, a cold
gray wind blows in from Tonopah.

A long stretch-limo make its stiff
wide turn, clumsy and magnificent,
like a billboard taking to the streets.

Size cushions and conceals some show
biz star or executive from the pot-holes
in the streets, and from the drubbing

of a bumpy railroad track. The vast car
arrives on the softest springs and shows
only its darkly tinted glass at one of many

mammoth hooded entrances. Like so much
else in our wise world, we never really see
who's responsible for all this.