Los Angeles Poem by Wakefield Mahon

Concrete jungle, mirrored eyes
What is and what you see
Hell or iron paradise
Becomes obscurity

The sights and smells of living death
The people on the street
Beg a dollar, buy a beer
Young girls sold like meat

Laughter fills a smoke-filled room
The quarter's looking good
He locks his case and ventures home
A mansion near Hollywood

Ask the man about downtown
He says he's never been
Ask him why there's poverty
'Laziness, ' he'll grin

He went to Harvard, business law
Like six generations before
He never thought to dropp from school
And work. His parents weren't poor

'Look into my mirrored eyes
I'm blinded by my wealth
Look again and you may find
Reflections of yourself'