the tourists with their T-shirt souvenirs...
the vendors with their carts of crafts and wares...
exclusive shops boast latest haute couteur....
the posers sip expressos while they glare
at homeless people wearing ragged clothes;
the sidewalk promenade their only home.
the street performers randomly impose...
houdinis, mimes and drummers chanting poems...
i wander Santa Monica appalled
at dearth of any lasting worth it holds.
perhaps some vain magician has enthralled
the populace. - enchanted, scammed and fooled!
compassion's banished from these streets of gold;
as other tragedy that can't be sold.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem