My third day poolside and I am relaxing
I guess - but I'm still quite uneasy here
What kind of taxi drivers find it taxing
To read a map, a sign, or use a mirror?
Just more clues to a place where no one's home
Where people aren't spurred to use their brains
More money here than water, sense. Just chrome
And grease and wastes of sand and roaring planes
And vanity and tribal pride and scorn
Where aliens are used as slaves or brought
As tutors, then ignored, or to adorn
This barren land that petrodollars bought
But know this ugliness is mine as well
In many ways each modern city's Hell.
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