poetry texts, poem archive at plagiarist.com

The contrast between the guttsy radio and the women at the end makes this one of my favourites

I remember Coronado Street: lived right around the corner on Reservoir when we came to Los Angeles in the early Fifties. His poem evokes memories of seedy old men, drunk and stinking, of us kids ragging them, of dusty palm trees on unkempt, sandy lawns and paint peeling on two-bedroom houses with avocado trees out back. With few words, Buk brings back half a decade of poignant memories.

Yes, yes, yes!