LA poem

I had left my recycled bag 

of bastard poems at Beyond Baroque 

where in last night. 

I took a cab back to Venice, 

but the theater was closed. 

I walked around to the back, 

trying to find someone on the morning shift, 

but all I found were garbage cans. 

On top of one of the heaps was a plastic bag, 

dew wet and standing out. 

Inside were my damp poems, 

an unused condom,

and a half-filled Diet Dr. Pepper.