I told him I was Bird Rocked,
like a beached whale,
my carcass rotting in the heat
and flies gathering.
Last night I imagined
an underground railroad next door,
engines at even intervals
until morning peeked through the trees,
branches bowing without protest,
my world as still as I left it.
It has come to this,
believing an underground escape
is at hand.
Today the neighbor denies
knowledge of hope.
I hear whistles,
feel steam in the air.
Bird Rock is a neighborhood in La Jolla, CA.