They sterilized the land
the art deco department stores
and the stumpy roots of the
buildings of the Pacific Southwest Exhibition
have been buried under concrete and rubble.
every timber and brick that once shook
during the earthquake of ’33
every roadside diner
every steepled church;
flop-houses and mansions
torn down for mini-malls.
the Tongva Indians
who lit signal fires on the hill
and the hill, dredged and leveled
can hardly be called a hill anymore.
Every city hall demolished and rebuilt
in the style of the day
until there’s no there there
as Ms. Stein would say,
only the slick glass
and pre-stressed concrete
of the lowest bidding developer
and a lack of imagination and history
that the liquor stores are filing for
before they become landfill for
another Jack-n-the-Box drive-through.