Death of a small village

This sleepy desert town grew
sleepy Indian valley settled in 1890s
resting in a valley of mountains
each with its own array of colors: browns
IMG_1242steely grays, tiny peaked pines pierce its crest
winter’s snowy mantle soars 8000 feet above
The mountain pass sluices gushing torrential winds
tearing desert cities asunder.
settled by Southern Pacific Railroad drawing tourists to
hot mineral springs, clean air, new vistas to conquer
railroad’s gone, not a trace left
hot as hell in summer and
mountain-wrapped sunshine winters
Charlie Farrell’s, Ernest Borgnine’s
secret hideaway for Hollywood’s royalty
cavorted in glamour’s seclusion
enigmatic memories of the Racquet Club
demolished sadly to the ground
Mecca 1950s reawakening boom draws young families
aspiring young business wannabe successes.
from somnolent quiet to malignant traffic lights
burgeoning as unwanted gifts
schools and money colonize
the discovery of paradise draws
dreaded snowbird, traffic insighting fury 
sacred home of the Cahuilla Indians
land divided into every other square mile
Witch of Tahquitz canyon their home.
sacred burial ground jumbled with architectural eyesores
precious desert expanses littered with human detritus
blossoming trash gardens filling once virginal soil, the gods cry
movie stars fled, died, leaving
homes available for parties at a premium.
moviestar images replaced by streets bearing their names
Charlie Farrell, north and south
Dinah Shore, east and west
Bob Hope spews across the moneyed-rich behind locked gates
no mention of Judy
Garbo’s home rubbled
all those 50’s settlers long since dead
ah! the delirium of progress


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