by Ryan Boyd
The table was set for carnivores,
plush reds, and cynical, published bores—
darling, my subtle, every barb and bent
look was over what someone wrote or spent,
and I realized the city of my birth
was gone, remodeled, the old maps
scurrilous and crooked, their worth
reduced to decorative traps
baited with small-batch honey—
an American city in 2019,
nothing but someone else’s money,
no good place to loaf or lean
and watch, the rich having given us gifts
like airports, low taxes, VISA, and Lyfts.
Ryan Boyd (Twitter: @ryanaboyd) is a writer in Los Angeles, where he teaches at the University of Southern California. His work has appeared in FIELD, The Los Angeles Review of Books, DIALOGIST, and the Texas Review, among other places.