West Covina Poem by Greg Dennison

The apartment is so quiet now.
In the early darkened hours I listen to the cars swish by.
The future lies scattered like the bottles on my coffee table, and much like my friend passed out on my couch, I too lay passed out on life's couch.
I thought I had a firm hold on life, as I strolled beneath trees, along avenues at sunset.
Now I realize life is as diverse as the 10 freeway and Amar Ave.
Maybe there is reason.
Perhaps up ahead like the San Gabriel Mountains that loom in the hot July night, staring me in the face night after night as I sit on these steps.