CALIFORNIA

Soon California sunshine. I will pan gold in the streams, get rich, buy new clothes and head for a city, Glendale or San Jose. I’ll meet a stranger who can swing a tennis racket, lives in a three story house with a roof garden. All year long the sun shines, no more wind and snow. Winter is terrible here and summer worse, a hotbox where girls wear shorts looking for love. Get husbands who work on phone poles with broken lines. Cook tells me to stop singing just peel the potatoes and cut the celery. The tune goes, “Dear, oh dear, when I’m married, I won’t be here.”