I probably will never see El Monte on a
Sunday
or El Segundo washed by winter rain.
I never knew these towns existed-if they do,
outside of the obituary page that states
how many boys came home today in boxes
made of steel.

I'm well aware that some have died
from Chicago too
but it's the El Nowhere towns
I think about this morning
and the young men the whole town knew.

Today some children running down the hill
were shouting out the war
is over
they must have had some private war of
words in mind.
Not the one I'm paying for
the one that's killing off the boys I see on
airplane rides
staring into space in search of El Dorado.
Sometimes I ask them where their from,
El Paso is the answer or El Monte.

And so they take the tinsel from our lives
on airplane rides across the sea
and like the silver in our dimes
it won't come back
until we question ..why.

El Monte's jut ten minutes from L.A.
to some I'm told
it seems like El Dorado when it rains.

Just the same
I doubt I'll ever go there on a Sunday.

from Twelve Years Of Christmas
by Rod McKuen

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